


A Different Time

by mitsukai613



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: 20s au, A Lot of Plot, Eventual Sex, F/M, Happy Ending, John in a fedora, M/M, and hopefully some humor, yes that does deserve a tag of its own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 117,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1329340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsukai613/pseuds/mitsukai613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would things have been different if Harry and his compatriots had lived in the 20s instead of the modern era? Obviously they'd still get into apocalyptic situations way too often for any sane individuals, but how would the relationships between them change? Harry still has his PI business, but Murphy is his partner now since the force won't allow her to become an officer. They meet a young man who has been possessed by a light-hating demon, and after going to a speakeasy to try and find some information about who summoned the demon, Harry meets a nice businessman named Milano who offers him some help. He takes it gratefully, but then he realizes that the kind Milano is actually notorious mob boss Gentleman Johnny Marcone and everything begins to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is! My epic-length Dresden Files 20s AU! What a long road it hath been! Anyway, I'm pretty happy with this fic, so I hope you all enjoy it too, and I put explanations for any of the 20s slang I used down in a note at the end of the page, as I will for every chapter of this. Also, sorry that it's getting posted a little early; I wouldn't have been able to get it up on Wednesday, so I just decided that early was better than late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! My epic-length Dresden Files 20s AU! What a long road it hath been! Anyway, I'm pretty happy with this fic, so I hope you all enjoy it too, and I put explanations for any of the 20s slang I used down in a note at the end of the page, as I will for every chapter of this. Also, sorry that it's getting posted a little early; I wouldn't have been able to get it up on Wednesday, so I just decided that early was better than late.

                I’ve always loved Chicago, my city, but lately she’s been sort of a mess. Which, most guys in my profession would probably be pretty glad about that, if I’m honest. Keeps us in business, you know? Who’s going to come visit a PI if nothing’s wrong? I guess that just isn’t as important to me, though. Whether or not traditional crime is bad, whether or not people are in danger, whether or not someone is suspicious of their wife or their husband or their whatever else, I’ll have my business. See, I’m not exactly your traditional PI; I’m a Wizard. Yes, I’m serious, no, I’m not insane, and yes, I’m positive it’s not just a nickname I earned because I’m so damn good at what I do. My cases generally fall under the ‘oh no, there’s a pulsing portal in my home through which a cornucopia of weird squirmy things accost me! Whatever shall I do?’ variety rather than the, ‘there are criminals that would enjoy me far more if I were not breathing’ kind of things. Of course, that’s not to say that I won’t work cases like that. I’m really, really broke, generally, and my partner, Murphy, would very much enjoy it if no more requests were made on my behalf to buy me and my fuzzy things food.  

                None of that actually relates to this particular occasion, though. No, the moment I want to discuss occurred when I was sitting in my cheap office on top of my cheaper desk because my chair had collapsed underneath me about a week earlier and the one in front of the desk was for the clients. I know that because Murphy explained it to me very emphatically and with threats of fists. See, no matter what she says, she’d never beat me up for real. She saves that for the assholes that come in and assume she’s my secretary even though the white letters on the door proclaim “Dresden and Murphy: Supernatural Investigations” in thick, blocky letters and the little nameplate on her desk (which is way nicer than mine, by the way) has Karrin Murphy written on it. Which, yeah, I know people think I’m weird (or that I have ulterior motivations) for having a female partner, but she’s smarter, stronger, braver, and generally way more badass than the majority of men I’ve met. After all the bad scrapes she’s gotten me out of, vanilla mortal though she is, I wouldn’t trade her for the brawniest jaded ex-cop in the country. At this point, that would probably be something she’d consider more seriously than me. She’d have to stop advertising as a supernatural agency, though. I got distracted again, didn’t I? Hell’s Bells.

                Okay, so, I was sitting on my desk for the reasons discussed above and Murphy was in her part of the office doing paperwork because she stopped trusting me with it after the third time I brought it back to her incomplete, illegible because of all the ink splotches where my pen leaked, slightly moist from my dog Mouse’s spit, and stained about three shades darker from what was either tea or coffee; I couldn’t recall which I’d been drinking that day. Anyway. I was just sort of staring at the ceiling, as I had been since I arrived that morning, when I heard someone knocking on the office door. I don’t really want to admit to how quickly I leapt up to my feet, but hey, I was bored. I’d welcome checking under some kid’s bed, at that point. I regretted thinking that the moment I opened the office door and found a boy who couldn’t have been any older than thirteen staring up at me.

                He was probably from a poor family, if he had a family at all, because he had rips in his clothes and even though it was freezing outside his jacket was so threadbare that it may as well have been nonexistent. I ushered him inside quickly even though the meager heat offered by the office probably wouldn’t help him too much. I remember that he had snow on his cap and I’d been surprised to realize that it was snowing that day. I have no idea why that surprised me, though; it was the middle of winter, after all. I guessed I’d just been sort of out of it recently, what with all the monotony. Generally if a troll didn’t attack me at least once every other week I started getting a little antsy, and yeah, I do know how bad that sounds, but hey, it’s a living, and I get to help people. I’ve always liked doing that.

                “Stars and Stones, kid, you’ll kill yourself running around in this weather.” He was shivering so I led him over to one of the warmer parts of the office, just outside Murphy’s door. She peeked up at us but made no move to do anything as yet. She generally trusted me to deal with any prospective clients; at least while she was busy with other stuff and as long as they didn’t seem too… rowdy, I guess is the word.

                “You sound weird,” he told me through chattering teeth, and I laughed because I knew that I did. I had one of those accents that people call impossible to place, and it sounded not at all like Chicago even though I’d lived there since eighteen. Plus I’ve picked up some odd expressions over my years, most of them from people I don’t talk about anymore, so I periodically caused confusion when I spoke. Also, I had a weird inability to understand like, all slang. No idea why, it was just lost on me. Another reason why Murphy was pretty much the best partner ever, really. She was a few years younger than me, meaning a few years more in tune with all the youth and whatnot. I have to sound like an old man, don’t I? I promise I’m not. I just turned twenty-nine last October, on Halloween. I know, ha ha, right? The Wizard was born on Halloween.

                “I realize that, kid. Now, did you just run in here to get out of the cold, or do you know where you are?” He shrugged and stared down at his feet, obviously soaking in the warmth and unwilling to look up at me for fear of me throwing him out. Finally, he shook his head.

                “I heard you could help me, from a few guys I know. They said… look, there’s been something following me. Something… I dunno what it is. It’s big. Bigger than you. Bigger than anyone. It ain’t… human. I know that’s… they might’ve been trying to pull one over on me, but I just… I’m desperate, okay? I need help. I gotta get rid of it. It’s gonna kill me.” I narrowed my eyes and looked around the office suspiciously, carefully. “It ain’t here now. It’s usually… most of the time it only shows up when it’s dark out, or when it’s real cloudy.”

                “You don’t know that, kid. Could be it only manifests itself to you at those times. In my experience stuff like that doesn’t just go away because the sun’s out. They’re not like the stories say they are.” The kid shuddered.

                “Are you gonna help me or not? Look, I got the dough, I swear I do, I can pay you, just get rid of it, please. If you ain’t gonna do it I gotta go find somebody who will.” I swallowed.

                “I don’t need your money that badly; I’ll do it for free, yeah? I’m gonna take a closer look at you, okay? It’s something called the Sight. It should let me see what’s attached itself to you. Just… you know, stand there like that. Yeah. And Murph, please don’t walk in front of me this time.” She rolled her eyes at me, but didn’t speak. She’d been annoyed with me the first time I’d said something like that, until I explained that it was only because she was so… brilliant. She has a sword, in my Wizard’s Sight, something like a Holy Sword that throws off so much light that I can’t See anything else for it. I’d missed something because of that, once, way back in our infancy as an agency, and I hadn’t let it happen since. Anyway, I opened up what a lot of people call the Third Eye, and a whole new world sprang up in front of me.

                My bland office sparked in a rainbow of color because of all the magic here, because of all the memories. That was normal, though. I tried to check my office out like this every month or so, just to make sure everything was as it should be and so I would know what normal was and wasn’t. The boy, though… there was something weird about him that I couldn’t exactly place. He didn’t have the white, halo-like aura that a lot of little kids have because of their innocence, their relative purity, but I hadn’t really expected that. Instead, shades of blue and green swirled around him, usually something I associated with someone who was healthy and calm. That couldn’t be right, though; he wasn’t calm, and if he really did have something attached to him then he wasn’t healthy. I realized what I’d noticed suddenly and with a sharp shock. I was seeing an illusion. Something was trying to fool me into thinking nothing was wrong. I focused on that thought, on the illusion, and with the thoughts it faded. I stumbled back at what I saw then.

                It was black. Everything around him was black. The whole office. No more of the magical, flowing colors. Only nothing, pure, impenetrable blackness with the boy at its center. I stared into the darkness, looking for a source, for something, for anything, and then I saw those ruby eyes, saw a gaping, yellow-toothed maw opening underneath, perched just above the boy’s head. I stepped forward again, closer, and I knew I had to get rid of whatever that thing was, otherwise, yeah, the kid would die. It’d kill him, whatever it was. I thought hard, pathetic and desperate thoughts, every banishing spell I’d ever learned, and finally I thought of one, one based on light, that might work against the thing. The words fell from my mouth thoughtlessly, instinctually, and the magic flowed from me towards the thing. And then it was gone, just like that. The kid’s true aura, a pale pinkish red still with flecks of white, shown through comfortingly. I shut my Sight and for the hundredth time wished that I could forget what I saw. The memory of that thing, that thing that only put off waves of dark and destroy and feed, would stay with me forever. I didn’t want to see it ever again. The kid gasped.

                “It’s gone? It’s gone! You got rid of it? What was it, anyway?” I shook my head.

                “I… I don’t know, kid. Hell’s Bells. Murph, were you, like, aware of anything? Did you see any of what happened there?”

                “I saw you stumble, so it must’ve been bad. I saw the light when you got rid of it, too, but then that was just your magic.” It didn’t appear to mortals unless it wanted to, then, and it hadn’t wanted to. Of course, it didn’t like light, whether or not it could theoretically appear in it or not, so maybe it just hadn’t wanted to go anywhere near Murphy and her fiery sword.

                “Not… not the worst thing I’ve ever Seen, but not the best, either. I don’t know what it was, but it’s got something against light, probably of any type. It had the whole room dark. Kid, when did that start? Something like that… it’s not a lesser thing that just attaches to whoever. Were you messing around with anything? Something weird, or someone weird, or anything like that?” He shook his head.

                “No more than usual. Everyone here’s weird. You’re a private dick, you ought to know that.” I nodded and laughed, ran one hand through my admittedly too long, messy hair. I wondered, not for the first time, if maybe I should just cut it short and buy a fedora. Murphy would probably kill me if I did, though; she had an irrational hatred of the things, which was really funny because pretty much every man in the city had one. Of course, if I did do it just to piss her off, she would probably just buy one of those stupid flapper dresses to piss me off in return. I have no idea why people say she and I belong in another time, by the way. We’re obviously very in touch with the trends of today.

                “That’s true enough, kid. Do you have anywhere to stay tonight? Somewhere warm, I mean.” He bit his lip and I could see what he was thinking through his face. Should I tell the truth? Should I lie? I don’t trust him. Should I just run without answering? I really don’t trust him. I’d had the same things on my own face before, I knew I had. It’s a small world, I guess.

                “Not… exactly. Not too many flops that have heat, ya know? I got somewhere warm enough, though.” I rolled my eyes.

                “It’s going to be way below zero tonight, kid. Murphy, is your extra bedroom still free? I’d let him stay the night with me, but you know where I live, so you know why I can’t.” She rolled her eyes.

                “Bleeding Heart Dresden strikes again. Yeah, I’ve still got room. Kid can stay with me if he wants. And you could too, you know. I don’t know how the hell you live down there in that basement.” I shrugged.

                “Well, I get it all to myself. Only downside is that the boarders upstairs are loud and usually drunk. And also they call me a bat for living in the basement, which actually doesn’t make that much sense, when you think about it, but whatever, I guess. They’re drunk.” She snickered.

                “You could always call the cops on them; get them taken in for drunkenness and all that.” I shook my head.

                “I like a drink or two myself, every now and again. I’m not going to get someone else arrested for partaking.” Murphy stared, and so did the kid.

                “Partaking?”

                “Shut up, Murph.” She laughed, and a tiny smile spread over the kid’s cheeks. “So, kid, do you want to stay with her for the night?” He nodded slowly, carefully, cautiously, and then smiled.

                “I think its swell that you and your secretary get on so well,” he said, quietly, and Murphy’s eyes narrowed.

                “Do you see whose name is on the door besides his? I’m his partner, not his secretary, damn it.” He looked understandably horrified.

                “Oh! I thought that that Murphy might’ve been your, uh, brother, maybe, or your dad. Sorry, um, real sorry.” She snorted in a perfectly undignified manner that made me smile.

                “No problem. Karrin Murphy, at your service. The Private Dick over there is Harry Dresden. Now, can we have your name so we can stop calling you kid?” He nodded, slow, calming down with the laughter and the joking and the freedom I’d brought him.

                “Jack Warren.” Murphy nodded.

                “Alright. Well, it’s getting late, so why don’t I take you to my place? Can you lock up tonight, Dresden?” I nodded.

                “Sure thing, Murph. I did work here by myself for a while, remember?”

                “And you nearly ran it into the ground and almost got yourself killed every other week.” I shrugged.

                “Details.” She laughed again and walked out, after which I did get everything straightened up and got the office locked up. And that was that, or so I thought; the end to some tiny, not inconsequential but not world altering case. It wasn’t, though. By that point I can’t say I’d even scratched the surface of what had really started going on. It took about a week before it all became clear.

* * *

 

                Kids were getting infected. Ever since Jack, I had at least three kids come in every day, some of them so afraid of the thing following them that they were in tears. I had Murphy ask Jack about it (he’d taken to her pretty well; one could almost say he lived with her, except he came and went as he pleased. Some nights he stayed, some nights he didn’t) and he knew every last one of them. They were each from the same makeshift community/family of kids, although they were pretty scattered over the city. It was… worrying, to say the least, and I had no idea of what was going on. The kids didn’t either. None of them said they’d been doing anything different, and yet the Thing, as I’d taken to calling it, was attaching to each of them, draining them of youth and vitality and throwing up an illusory aura to hide itself from the common observer.

                The first time a girl who I’d seen before became a repeating customer, I realized what was going on. Well, Murphy did, actually, even though she didn’t realize it when she said it.

                “It’s like a cold or something,” she said, “except it keeps spreading because you can’t remove it from every kid at the same time.” I’d just finished up with the girl and had sent her on her way, honestly worried that what I’d been doing was only temporary fix, but if that had been so then Jack would’ve been afflicted again by then. Murphy, though… she’d just given me an answer. Jack was staying okay because he had started spending more time with us, Murphy specifically, than the other kids. The “disease” couldn’t get to him, but the other kids… they were sitting ducks to this thing.

                “Stones, Murph, that’s it! It’s spreading like a virus, person to person, through some kind of contact. That’s why it’s just these kids. That thing couldn’t have gotten from the Nevernever to here by itself, though, it’s too powerful, and stuff like that is bound good and tight to that side. Someone had to have summoned it here. Why, though? It’s not like a mortal Wizard could really control that thing, and what good would draining kids do them? And where the hell is the council? A summoning like that should’ve drawn them here right away.” She gaped for a second, but then she was all composed again.

                “From what you’ve said I don’t want that council here anyway. We can figure this out ourselves, right?” And there was the problem; I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure. Whatever this was, it was big. Bigger than me, probably. I mean, I could probably just keep healing the kids; maybe even just have Jack bring them all here and do a mass one so I could get rid of the thing entirely, stop the spread. It might not work, though, and if I did that then I couldn’t guarantee that one of the kids wouldn’t somehow spread it to Murphy or myself, since we’d probably get the thing farther than them. 

                “I don’t know, Murphy. If a Warlock did this, then that bastard is bad news. I’ve got wards all over the city, you know that, and none of them detected that summoning. Do you know how much skill it would take to hide that kind of power? I couldn’t manage it fifty years from now. Whoever this is, they’re old and they’re good.” I saw the defiant rise of Murphy’s chin before she spoke and I already knew what she’d say.

                “We can do it, Dresden. I never thought I’d see you running scared from something. Little Dresden scared of the monsters, now?” I raked my hand through my hair.

                “We can try, at the least. It isn’t like I can call the council myself anyway. Stars, I should probably just be glad that they’re not blaming me for this one.” Murphy nodded because she remembered the case not long ago where exactly that had happened, I’d nearly been separated from my head, and she’d lovingly smacked me over the head for about an hour when I weaseled my way out of it and came home in one piece yet again. She grinned up at me, a rare grin that made her look human, and I appreciated the attempt at reassurance.

                “Where do we start, then?” I thought about it for a minute.

                “Where everyone starts, when they’re in this business: Mac’s.” And I wasn’t lying. Mac’s was the Supernatural Speakeasy, the place where everyone with even an inkling of magical talent congregated to talk and to plan under Accorded safety and neutrality. Mac knew everyone in town with supernatural ties; he knew who to talk to if you had the Council or the mortal police on your ass. He was, quite honestly, one of the largest, most important information hubs in America. He was also a good friend of mine, which, you’ve got to admit, is pretty useful. We went outside and climbed into Murphy’s car, since I didn’t have one, or a license, for that matter, and she drove us to Mac’s Steakhouse.

* * *

 

                When we got inside, Mac gave us a nod, and Murphy, as was custom, went to grab us a table. She’d never been quite as comfortable in here as me; all the magic sort of unnerved her. She trusted me with it, even though periodically the sheer force I could control made her a little wary of me, but she didn’t trust the other people here. She liked staying on her guard, here, and she couldn’t do that if she was chatting with a man who generally refused to say more than three words in a day. Either way, Mac and I had something of a repertoire, so it might’ve been better that way anyway.

                “Hey, Mac,” I told him, a tiny wave forming itself with my left hand. He nodded again in return. “Look, I need to get right to the point today, okay? Have you heard about anything odd going on, recently? Something dark?” He raised his eyebrows, which could’ve been yes, no, or neither. I sighed. “I don’t have time to pry it out of you, okay? There’s a lot of kids involved, and some kind of monster that’s spreading among them like a virus.” It took him a few minutes, but finally he nodded.

                “The 1914,” he said, “Tell the guy at the front you know me and he’ll let you in the back. Look for the lady in the black shroud.” And that was all he’d say on the matter, before he handed me two teacups full of the finest ale in Chicago (and likely the only stuff made in-house, no ties to gangsters or runners) and two plates of steak. I performed a truly admirable balancing act in order to bring them to Murphy’s and my table. She took a gulp of her “tea” and nearly downed the whole damned thing. I just sipped at mine, since it’d been a while since I could afford it and apparently Mac had decided to be amiable and put it on my tab today, which basically meant that he didn’t expect any payment.  I would pay the thing off one day, though. I began to speak as I cut my steak, keeping my voice low in the tradition of Mac’s. The thirteen wooden pillars scattered throughout the room were good for misdirecting magic, and noise, but it was just a matter of politeness. No one got roaring drunk here, Mac didn’t allow it. Instead, people maybe got a little buzzed and chatted with friends or allies or associates or enemies or strangers, and they did it quietly. That was how Mac liked it, and Mac’s customers tried to keep Mac happy to keep him in Chicago.

                “You ever heard of a place called the 1914?” She stabbed at her own meat and nodded.

                “A few times. Been invited once or twice, but I’ve never been. Why?”

                “Mac told me I might be able to find something out there, from some lady in a black shroud. I’ve never heard of it before, though, so I have absolutely no idea where it is, and you know Mac isn’t the most forthcoming guy around. He probably risked something or another telling me what he did.” She took another sip of her beer and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand thoughtlessly. I did pretty much the same a few moments after.

                “I know where it is. I’ve heard that it’s a little dicey, though. A lot of gangsters hang around there.” I rolled my eyes.

                “Like we haven’t crossed swords with a few of them before. We’ll be alright; you’ve just got to look at them funny and they’ll let us be.” She grinned.

                “I can agree with that, yeah. Still, can you at least try not to pick a fight while we’re there? And, you know, try to talk normally?” I played at being offended, because we’d had this conversation more than once before.

                “I do talk normally! And I’m a pacifist; why ever would I pick fights?” She heaved a long-suffering sigh that she was probably really deserving of, at this point.

                “No Hell’s Bells, no Stars and Stones, and no twisting your sentences and your words around to mess with people. Yes, even if they really, really deserve it.” I snickered.

                “I’ll be good, promise.”

                “I’ll hold you to that,” she replied, and we ate together in companionable silence. Murphy left Mac enough money to cover a little over half the meal, so I was nice and refrained from opening the door for her as we left so she wouldn’t get all mad at me. After that, we just sort of drove around town aimlessly until nine, at which point she drove us to the restaurant that apparently hid the 1914.

* * *

 

                On the surface, the place was just like any other fancy restaurant, with nice, clean wood tables and lights that didn’t buzz and people that screamed stock market wealth. Hadn’t Murphy said the place was sort of sleazy, though? Like, gangsters and cheap bootleg abound? Maybe that was just the back room or something. Look, the only speakeasy I’ve ever been to is Mac’s, okay? And most people don’t even consider him to be one, alcohol or not. Anyway, I walked up to the host, a short, squat little man in a nice penguin suit. He raised his eyebrow at me, which I could understand, considering my shirt was stained, not tucked in, and my pants were about an inch too short for my legs. I most certainly didn’t fit in in a place like this, and he knew it. Which, Murphy was probably a sight too. She had the short, flapper girl haircut, but rather than ridiculous dresses and other over-the-top stuff like them, she wore plain slacks and plainer shirts. Hers did at least fit her well, though.

                “Can I help you?” he asked me, and I nodded.

                “Mac, the owner of McAnally’s, sent me here. My name’s Harry Dresden.” He looked surprised for a quick moment, but then he nodded and led me behind the bar that had been converted to dining space for those desiring a less formal seating arrangement. I had no idea why, or what he was doing, until he slid a shelf out of the way and revealed a whole other room into which he ushered Murphy and me.

                “Please, do enjoy yourselves, sir, miss.” And then he stepped back out and put the shelf back where it was. I took that moment to look around the place; it was packed with men in suits, some of which fit poorly and some of which had obviously been tailor made. Some played pool, some chatted at the bar, and some simply sat and drank. I recognized one guy from my boardinghouse doing that with some people who were apparently his friends. From my cursory look, however, I didn’t see a woman in a black shroud. Still, Mac had never led me astray before, so I made up my mind to look around more.

                “Why the hell would anyone invite me here?” Murphy grumbled quietly, and I laughed.

                “Obviously they think you like a better time than you do,” I told her, and she punched me softly. We walked farther into the establishment, and not three minutes had passed before the guy I recognized from the boardinghouse recognized me back and drew attention to himself.

                “Hey, Bat! C’mon over here,” he hollered, and I tried for all of ten seconds to pretend I hadn’t heard him, but then he just walked over to me and grabbed my arm. Murphy looked vaguely shocked for a second before she followed after me and the guy.

                “Uh, look, I appreciate the offer and all, but I’m working, so yeah. You could tell me if you’ve seen a lady in a black shroud, though. A friend of mine told me I could find her here, and that she might have some information I could use.” The guy (look, I can’t be expected to remember the names of everyone who lives above me. There’s a lot of them and they change around every month or so) looked thoughtful as we stopped at his table, where a bunch of men I didn’t recognize sat.

                “I dunno, Bat. There’s a lotta dames that come through here. Most of ‘em don’t hang around, though. I mighta seen a girl like that over in the corner about an hour ago, but she left about ten minutes before you came in,” he said, before he shoved me down in an empty chair and Murphy caught up with us.

                “You know, I don’t really like it when someone kidnaps my partner. Think I can have it back?” she asked, pointing at me, and I grinned, getting ready to stand. The guy shoved me back down.

                “Dry up, doll. He can sit with us, he’s a big boy, ain’t he? He don’t need you looking after him. Besides, he lives with me! I ain’t gonna do nothing to him.” I squirmed.

                “Don’t insult her, please. She’s a good friend of mine, and we are here to work. If you saw the lady, tell me so, and if you didn’t, I need to go.” Murphy crossed her arms over her chest; she didn’t like it much when I started mouthing off to people we didn’t know well.

                “Hey, hey, yeah, I said I seen her. She ain’t here now, though. I think she comes in about every day, though, same time. Just come about an hour earlier tomorrow and you’ll catch her. Today, though… fetch him some hooch, boys!” I shook my head and tried to get up again, but his hand was heavy on my shoulder.

                “I really shouldn’t; I’ve got more work to do today. I’d rather not be intoxicated while I do it.” He raised his eyebrows and Murphy looked ready to hit herself. Apparently I’d said something she disapproved of, somehow. Already. Hell’s Bells. The guy seemed to consider commenting for a minute, but then apparently decided not to.

                “It’s alright, Bat! Just one little drink with me and the boys! I’ve told ‘em all about you, you know! You’re a funny guy, I like you. Let’s have a party, huh? Your little dame can stay if she likes.” I was about to say something else, and Murphy was about to protest at being called “my dame”, when some man I didn’t recognize came up to the table.

                He was tall, but not as tall as me, although he was broader about the chest and shoulders. He had one of the tailored suits, a fancy number that probably cost about three or four months of office rent. One of the ones crime or the market or both or everything had been good to. A fedora sat neatly on his hair, which was black but going a little gray at the temples, and he had to have had the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. They were a funny shade, too, a little like the crumpled dollar bills in my wallet, what most people I knew called my emergency funds. He had faint laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth, too. All in all, I’d probably describe him as distinguished, a refined sort of handsome that had aged like wine. Murphy tells me I should be a part time poet, by the way.

                “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” he asked, voice smooth as snake oil, those eyes glinting in the shadow formed by the hat that I could tell Murphy wanted to flick off of his head. I sort of did too, for some reason; I think it’s because I had this weird, almost instinctual urge to piss that man right off. The guy, the one I lived with, stepped away from me suddenly.

                “No trouble, Johnny. Just trying to get my boarding buddy there to have a little drink with me and my boys,” he said, hands held out peaceably. I stood up and moved to stand next to Murphy again. She stood a little in front of me, almost protective even though she’d never admit to it. She’d gotten understandably nervous in situations involving me and vanillas that might have weapons, after a regular case we’d worked the previous year that had resulted in my taking a bullet wound from some made guy I’d pissed off one way or another. To be honest, I couldn’t even remember what it was I’d done, although that might’ve been because of the blood loss. Murphy probably has an itemized list somewhere of literally every incorrect thing I’d said to the asshole, and to like everyone else we’ve ever met. I didn’t really care, though; I’d helped save the day in that case, and usually that was all I cared about.

                “Is that so? Seems like he wanted to get up. Must not be too close, hm?”

                “Well, it ain’t my fault he’s so damn hard to loosen up. He lives in the basement, see; he don’t talk to me or none of the other boarders, even if we yell for him. Always holed up in some book or another,” he said, sounding vaguely disgusted. I shifted a little. Murphy hip-checked me to keep me still. I rolled my eyes. The new guy, Johnny I think the guy called him, turned his eyes to me. I kept mine on his throat. He looked a little annoyed by that, but if I were him I’d be glad. A free peek at my soul isn’t something most people want, especially not if they’ve never met me before in their life. See, Wizards have this thing they can do; if they look someone in the eye for long enough, they get a sneak peek at that person’s soul, and that person gets the same for the Wizard. It’s not something most people really want to do once they know what it is; Murphy certainly hadn’t, when I told her why I never looked her in the eye. You see, I don’t know what’s in my soul. I’ve never looked and I’ve never asked anyone I’ve shared a Soul Gaze with. I don’t really want to know, to tell the truth. My life hasn’t exactly been all rainbows, and that kind of thing can leave stains that I don’t like thinking about. I heard some of the guy’s ‘boys’ mumbling in the background.

                “Look at him, hiding behind his dame! What a coward!” Murphy obviously heard it too, because she was gritting her teeth hard and glaring at the wall to keep from snapping at them. I really did admire her control, a lot of the time.

                “Are you quite all right, sir? These fools are rather stupid at the best of times. I should hope they’ve not done anything to you or your companion.” I shook my head.

                “No, he was telling the truth; we do live at the same boardinghouse, and I’m kind of a recluse. I can understand what he was doing, and I’d be perfectly inclined to go along with it on any other day, but today I’m working.” He stepped around to our other side and slowly herded us into the direction he’d come from without us really noticing until we’d gotten over there.

                “Is that so? What sort of work are you doing?” His smile and his voice were amiable, but his eyes weren’t. He was testing me. Probably scared I was a cop or something.

                “I’m looking for someone, a lady in a black shroud. My friend told me that she’d probably know something I could use.” He laughed.

                “I meant what you did in general, Mister…”

                “Dresden,” I finished for him, “And I’m a PI. This is my partner Murphy. You can look us up if you want. We’re in the phone book.” He relaxed minutely. PI’s didn’t normally do alcohol raids. He nodded and his smile became marginally more genuine.

                “Ah. Well, I wish you better luck tomorrow, as that woman leaves every day at the same time, and that time happened to be minutes before you arrived here. However, she also arrives every day at five. I’ll welcome your return at that time, Mr. Dresden, Ms. Murphy.” I blinked.

                “Oh. Well, um, alright. Thanks. Uh, what’s your name, by the way? I never caught more than Johnny.”

                “I’ve only got your last name, Mr. Dresden. I think it’s only fair that you’ve only got my first.” I blinked.

                “Okay then. Bye, then, Johnny. You wanna try one of your contacts next, Murph? Since mine were a bust today, I mean.” She snorted.

                “You have a contact, Dresden. A good one, I’ll give you that, but still just one. Anyway, maybe Kincaid will know something.” I might’ve pouted a little, but probably not, so the thought really isn’t worth considering.

                “Hey, I’ve got more than one, I just can’t contact my others too regularly or else they’ll start getting annoyed at me. Or, more annoyed at me, I guess, but yeah. Maybe Kincaid will have heard about this. I’ll let you handle that, though, since he likes you better than me. You can drop me off at my place and I’ll do some research there instead.” We were turning to leave when Johnny stopped us with a hand hard on my elbow.

                “You’ve only got one vehicle? I’m leaving, you understand, so perhaps I could be of some assistance.” I blinked.

                “Huh?”

                “A car, Mr. Dresden. If you two are going to different locations, I can take one of you. Save time, save fuel, all that.” I decided to stare at him instead of blinking. Murphy did too.

                “I, um, don’t think my place is going to be on the way to wherever you’re going, and it’s Murphy’s car, considering I never learned to drive.” He looked vaguely surprised by that, but I just shrugged.

                “I can make a side trip, if that’s the case. Don’t worry yourself over it. If you’re in any sort of rush, I believe it’d be best.” Finally I nodded even though Murphy glared daggers in my side for it.

                “Don’t worry about it, Murph. You know I can take care of myself, and besides, my place is way out of the way of Kincaid’s and if you get there too late then Ivy will be in bed, and I don’t like having to wake her up.” Murphy relented at my mention of Ivy, since she’d found out long ago that I was fond of the little girl, that, hell, I’d essentially named her, and finally nodded too.

                “Alright. Just be safe, yeah? We don’t know him.”

                “We don’t know most people.” She laughed.

                “Yeah, and most of those most people try to kill us. You, mostly.”

                “I already told you I’d be good.” She smiled at that, stretched up high and clapped me on the shoulder, then walked out. Shortly after, I walked out with Johnny. His car was a pretty thing done in cherry red, but I had no idea of its name or its make or its engine or anything else. The seats were soft, though, and it actually had a roof, unlike Murphy’s cheap Model T, which had indeed come with a roof, but said roof had been made of a type of cloth and had met with a very unfortunate fiery accident that I know nothing about. Anyway, this meant that yeah, I liked the car. It fit Johnny, too, his high class demeanor and his nearly royal face. He offered me another small, almost fatherly smile as he started the thing up and drove off.

                “So, you’re a Private Investigator, you said? What sort of case are you involved in that that woman would know anything? She’s always seemed the type to keep her nose clean, to me.” I shrugged again.

                “She probably is. My friend Mac is the one who told me to talk to her, though. See, you’re probably going to think I’m insane and throw me out of your car for saying this, but I’m not exactly your average P.I.; I’m a Wizard.” He nodded.

                “I realize as much. I’ve seen your advertisements. Dresden and Murphy, supernatural investigations. I assumed you both had some sort of… talent, or professed talent, in that regard.” I shook my head.

                “Murphy doesn’t. She’s as Vanilla as they come, magic wise. I’ve known her almost since I moved here, though, and she’s been one of the few to stick with me through hell or high water. Plus she can kick, like, anyone’s ass, which is pretty helpful. I seem to annoy people terribly, no idea why or how.” He chuckled softly.

                “Is that so? Might I see a bit of your talent, or is that only brought out on special occasions?” I shrugged.

                “If you want, I guess. You should probably pull over, though, so I don’t mess anything up.” He did so surprisingly quickly, and I climbed out of the car. He followed after me. “You want to check my sleeves or something? Make sure I’m not hiding a lighter on me?” He did so, a careful, thorough pat down of my arms and my pockets and my legs. I then proceeded to hold my hand out in front of me, steady and calm like always, like how I’d been taught long before. “Ignus, infusiarus,” I mumbled, and a little ball of light appeared in my hand. Carefully, I allowed it to drift forward, and he stared at it, obviously almost in shock. He reached out towards it and pulled away as he got close and felt its heat. I dismissed it.

                “Something else,” he said, and I nodded.

                “Forzare,” I whispered, and funneled a tiny bit of force through my hands towards him. He stumbled back a few steps and looked like a little boy discovering a treasure trove.

                “More,” he said again, and I sighed.

                “Vento Servitas.” A little cyclone sprouted up in front of me, swirled some dead leaves and grass and dirt around, ruffled his clothes, and then disappeared. “Don’t ask for more. Pretty much everything else I know is dangerous, and I don’t know you well enough to know whether or not I want to fry you just yet.” He nodded and we climbed into his car again. He was silent for a little bit, even as I directed him towards my boarding house, and stayed that way until we were about half a mile from it.

                “Have you considered… branching out a bit, Mr. Dresden?” I cocked my head.

                “Huh?”

                “Working for someone else, I mean. I’d certainly enjoy having a man like you on my side,” he said, and I was quick to shake my head.

                “This is nothing against you or anything, but no. You seem like a pretty nice guy, I swear, but I promised a long time ago that I’d stay my own man.” Strangely enough, he let it drop and changed the subject.

                “You never did tell me what sort of case you were working,” he said. I was confused for a second before I realized that he was right, that I never had explained.

                “There’s something attaching itself to a group of kids living on the streets around town. I don’t know quite what it is, but it’s spreading like a virus and draining them. I can remove it, yeah, but it just keeps spreading, and if it hooks to one of them and they don’t come to me quickly enough, they’ll die. It had to have been sent out by someone. I’m trying to figure out who it was.” Something dark, a curtain, a wall, fell across his eyes.

                “If you need my help, I’ll give it,” he told me, and then slipped a piece of paper into my pants pocket as we pulled up to my boarding house.

                “Thanks, Johnny,” I told him, and he nodded and drove away. Anticlimactic though it seems, that was my first encounter with the notorious crime lord Gentleman Johnny Marcone, although I didn’t know it at the time. Later on, I’d find myself unsure about whether or not I wished it had been the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dry up-shut up, go away


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a few hours early yet again, but I don't guess anyone will really mind, right? Anyway, have the second chapter of this truly epic-length fic, which I'm seriously going to have to post chapters of more often if I don't want this thing to go on for, like, two months or something. I mean, it's almost totally done, so I don't think I'd have too many issues keeping up. Ugh. I'll decide on that by next week's post, I guess. Or, you know, if I finish it up before then I'll just start posting stuff whenever again. I'm really unreliable, obviously. But hey, I tried a schedule for a while! And I've mostly kept it! So I say I'm doing good. Anyway, please do enjoy!

                When I opened my door, I was greeted first by my cat Mister, who then proceeded to shoulder his way around me and out the door, then by my dog Mouse, who decided to do it by licking my hand until I petted him, and lastly by a boy named Jack who wasn’t supposed to be in my boarding house. He saw me gaping, smirked, and waved the key and the charm I’d given Murphy in front of my face.

                “She told me to come here. She didn’t want me in her house alone so late and she didn’t want me to go with her wherever she was going. I promise she gave me these.” I nodded.

                “Okay. I guess putting you up for a night won’t kill me.” I could understand Murphy’s reasoning for sending him here, at least; Ivy was a sweet girl, but Kincaid could be a bulldog sometimes. I didn’t think he’d be too bothered by someone as young as Jack, but he could also be somewhat unpredictable, so it was probably for the best. “You hungry, kid? I can get you something really quick, but after that I’m going to be downstairs for probably the rest of the night. Mouse will keep you company, though, and if you get too bored you can yell at me. Or for me. Whatever, really.” He laughed softly and shook his head, Mouse already climbing onto my ratty old couch with him, apparently to cuddle.

                “No, Murphy fed me already. I think she’s pretty sure that you don’t have food here,” he said, and I snickered.

                “Well, to be honest she might be right. I haven’t checked in… uh… three days, maybe. Other people have been feeding me, though, so at least I haven’t skipped a meal in a while. Anyway, come fetch me if you need something, kid.” He raised his eyebrows and I heard him murmuring the word fetch under his breath as I went over to a rug in the corner, kicked it out of the way, raised the trapdoor, and went downstairs. I began talking to the skull on one of the shelves shortly thereafter, which is actually not quite as weird as you probably think. Pretty close, though.   

                “Lazybones, up and at ‘em,” I called quietly, and pretty orange lights flowered from the skull’s eye holes.

                “Dresden, can you please come up with a new joke?” The words issued from the skull’s mouth, and if you’re not used to it, I can admit that such human sounds coming from a thing without vocal cords is sort of unnerving.

                “Nope. Never give up the classics, Bob. I need to get some research done. You want to give me a hand?”

                “Depends. Is that whole hand thing the start of another bad joke?” I smiled, crooked and probably something close to mischievous. 

                “No?” Bob laughed.

                “Whatever you say, Dresden. What do you need me to do?”

                “Some kind of possession is spreading through a group of kids around here. They come to me, and I remove it, obviously, but then it just comes back. It’s like a disease,” I said, and if Bob had eyebrows, I’m sure they’d have been furrowed.

                “I’ve never heard of anything like that before,” he said, and I suddenly felt a little bit cold. Bob knows, like, everything. He’s been in the possession of Wizards like me for centuries, probably almost when the first Wizard was born. He knows nearly everything there is to know about magic. For something to stump him, it had to be old, it had to be big, and it had to be bad. “Do you have any other characteristics about it, or is it just a thing?”

                “It doesn’t like light. I don’t know if it can actually manifest itself in it or not, but I do know that if it can it doesn’t want to. I’ve been using a light based dispelling to get rid of it.” The skull bounced a little to indicate that its inhabitant was nodding.

                “If you’ll let me I can head into the Nevernever and look into it. I can’t promise I’ll find anything, though.”

                “Go ahead,” I said, desperate to learn what I needed to no matter the risk, and there was a lot of risk. Bob could get hurt, or he could go off on one of his tangents and get some college in the news, or really anything. I needed to help those kids, though, to get rid of this and find whoever caused it. “See if anyone knows about anyone currently in the area with enough juice to pull this off, too. And maybe find out why the Council hasn’t tried sticking their nose in this yet.” A dim orange cloud flowed from the skull, and it’s even more unnerving when something that doesn’t even have a corporeal form starts chatting with you.

                “Sure thing, Boss. Try not to blow up the lab while I’m gone.”

                “Yeah, yeah. Be back by tomorrow night.”

                “Of course,” he said, and then he was gone. I spent the rest of the night poring over every book I owned on anything even tenuously connected to this case, and found nothing. I’m pretty sure I now qualify as an expert on every magical ailment ever, though. Did you know that there’s a curse that can make someone cluck like a chicken for the rest of eternity? I do, now, and I really wonder why it isn’t more popular. Anyway, I gave in at about three or four or five in the morning, and went back upstairs. Jack was napping with Mouse covering him like a blanket, and I draped a real one over the arm of the couch just in case before I went to my own bedroom and dropped into my creaky old bed. I was out in minutes.

* * *

 

                I awoke the next morning to knocking on my door and was immediately suspicious because no one I knew ever actually bothered knocking. Even Michael didn’t anymore, and that was saying something considering how polite he generally was. I swept quickly into the main room of the house and took my staff from the battered tin by the door. Jack, apparently capable of sleeping through a combination earthquake avalanche tornado, continued to sleep. I opened the door slowly, cautiously, the staff stuck partially out of it in an attempt to ward off whatever was out there.

                I had no reason to be scared, though, or at least I didn’t think I did at the time, because Johnny stood on the other side. I cocked my head and slid the staff back into the tin.

                “Johnny? What’s up?” I asked, a yawn tainting my voice. He stepped forward as if planning to enter, and I thrust my hand out to press against his chest and stop him. “Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Unless you want to explode, I mean. You don’t just walk into a Wizard’s home uninvited, you know. Our doors are generally warded all to hell. Give me a minute and I’ll take them down. These damned things aren’t working like they’re supposed to; see, I should just be able to invite someone in and they’ll let said person in, but they won’t. I’ve had to make a lot of charms, which, actually, is probably better, but still. I’ll fix them when I get a free day. Hell’s Bells, this is dumb,” I grumbled, and finally managed to pull the things down. “Okay, come in.” He stepped over the threshold and shivered, probably feeling the leftover magic as something like static electricity. I pulled the wards back up behind him and shut the door, at which point Jack finally stirred. I wasn’t expecting him to react like he did, but hey, I never claimed that I knew everything about the kid.

                He leapt off the couch with speed that shouldn’t have been possible so early, shot across my floor, and wrapped Johnny in a hug. The man blinked and the boy smiled.

                “Johnny!” he yelled, and the older man’s hands settled on his thin shoulders gently.

                “Jack?” he asked, “What in the world are you doing here? Mr. Dresden, are you related to him?” He sounded confused, and maybe a little angry, probably because if I was related to him that meant I’d been letting him live as he had. I held out my hands in a gesture of peace and shook my head.

                “Nah. Jack’s the first kid that came to me for help with that thing I told you about yesterday. He got sort of attached to me and Murphy, mostly Murphy, after that. I don’t really like him to stay here, but Murphy went somewhere where he probably shouldn’t last night, so she sent him here. She’ll probably come get him pretty soon, so he can eat. Which reminds me, do you want me to check my fridge now, Jack?” He snickered and let go of Johnny.

                “I don’t think you’ve got anything. I checked your cupboards last night.” I sighed.

                “If you got hungry you should’ve come down and told me. I’d have gone out to get you something. I mean, there’s a restaurant a few blocks down. I didn’t find anything last night anyway, so it wouldn’t have been a big loss.” He shrugged.

                “I wasn’t that hungry. Besides, Murphy always tells me how broke you are.” I might’ve pouted a little.

                “I do have money, you know. I mean, not as much as she does, but I’ve got enough to live on.”

                “Usually,” Jack finished for me, and he’d certainly been spending too much time with Murphy.

                “Shut up, kid. Murphy yells at me enough for five people as it is, and Michael probably for two, and his wife for eighty. So they don’t need help, I promise.” Johnny listened to all this with polite indifference. I scratched my head. “How do you know Johnny anyway, kid?”

                “He brings me and some of my friends food and clothes. He’s a good guy,” he said, and I nodded.

                “Cool. So, Johnny, what’d you need anyhow?” He shrugged and managed to make it look effortless.

                “I thought it best to check on you. The man who was harassing you last evening does live here, correct? I thought perhaps that he may have dropped by to continue the job after I left. I had also thought that you might appreciate a bit of breakfast and a ride to the 1914.” Jack punched my arm, almost brotherly despite our respective ages, and grinned wide and sharp.

                “He might be too much of a charity case for you, Johnny.”

                “If you were Murphy I’d say something really insulting right now.” He shrugged because he really, really didn’t care. I think he should’ve. Johnny smiled and settled one hand on my shoulder. I didn’t jump even though people don’t often touch me and it kind of weirds me out when they do; it’d taken me a pretty long to even get to this point, to stop flinching at the softest of touches. Murphy and Michael had been the biggest helps, but then they were the biggest helps in pretty much everything. They’d been my islands ever since I moved here.

                “I believe it’s worth an attempt, Jack. So, would you like to join me, Mr. Dresden?” I shook my head.

                “Nah, I need to wait for Murphy to call. If she found anything out I’ll need to know about it; it’s all been a bust on my end so far. Take Jack out, though. Murphy might actually hurt me if he doesn’t get food, and as he said, there’s a decent chance I don’t have any. If you want to take lunch with me, though, that’ll be fine. Just know that I will be able to pay for literally nothing at any place where you’d probably eat.” He laughed.

                “Alright. I’ll return at noon, then. Likely before, as I will have to return your charge. Might I have your first name, by the way?” Oh, yeah. I never had given him that, had I?

                “Harry,” I said. “After Houdini, ironically enough.” He smiled.

                “Fitting. I suppose that earns you my last name, does it not? John Milano,” he said, and yeah, I guessed he did look sort of Italian. I held out my hand and he shook it.

                “Nice to finally actually meet you, then.”  He nodded.

                “You as well.” After that, he and Jack walked out and I went back down to the basement to dig through my dusty old tomes. By the time the owner of the boardinghouse, a nice older lady named Mrs. Spunklecrief, came down to tell me that Murphy was on the phone for me, I’d become a miniature expert on possession as well as magical disease. And I’d gotten no further on the damned cause for the thing attaching to the kids. Of course. Hopefully Murphy had something. I went upstairs to the hallway where the only phone in the boardinghouse resided and picked it up where it hung off the receiver.

                “Heya, Murph. Figure anything out?” I heard some kind of ruckus going on down the hallway, towards the bedrooms.

                “Ivy knew something, but apparently it falls under one of those things she isn’t legally allowed to talk about. She did tell me we were on the right track with Black Shroud, though. She also said that I should check out my other contacts, since they might be a little freer to speak, if less knowledgeable.” I nodded even though she couldn’t see. I heard footsteps coming up from my left, but didn’t look.

                “Okay. You can come by at about noon to pick up Jack and take him back to your place. I’m going to go back to the 1914 at five, and he’ll be safer at your place than here. I mean, it’s the middle of the day, so he should be good in your house until you can get back. I’ve looked over all my books, but I haven’t found anything. The jury’s still out on whether or not I’ll get anything out of the other thing,” I said, being purposefully vague since apparently someone else was present in the hallway.

                “Alright. Bye, Dresden. Be safe.”

                “You too.” I hung up, and turned, and, well, holy shit, there was the guy from the speakeasy again.

                “You say you’re going back to the club tonight, Bat? How ‘bout I drive you down?” I shook my head.

                “No, but thanks for the offer. I’ve got a ride already.” He scratched his head, his face scrunched up in a really intriguing way that reminded me a lot of the pigs that I’d tended on my Master Ebenezer’s farm so many years before.

                “Who?”

                “Johnny,” I replied, turning to head back towards the door and therefore the stairs to my part of the boardinghouse. He stopped, but instead of letting me go, he grabbed my elbows and whipped me around. I wasn’t able to hold back the flinch that time because the gesture and the hardness of the grasp had shocked me.

                “What’s Johnny got to do with you, huh?”

                “Nothing! He’s just being nice. Look, after this case is over, and I’m not going there for work, you can drive me and I’ll drink with you, yeah? I just don’t want to get distracted. Hell’s Bells, man, drunk isn’t a good look on me anyway.” He laughed, but it sounded stilted and surprised, as if the simple fact of me making a joke was beyond his comprehension. He let me go and I relaxed.

                “I’ll hold you to that, Bat.” And then he turned and walked off. I did the same. For some reason I really wanted a shower after that. Anyway, I kept working until about eleven thirty, although I did bring a big pile of the books up to the living room to work, at which point the door opened and Jack stepped through, the wards parting in the wake of Murphy’s charm. I dropped them manually seconds after so Johnny could come in, then once more put them back up. I picked up my books silently and moved to plop onto my favorite chair instead of the couch so Johnny and Jack would have room on the couch. Johnny raised an eyebrow at my armful. For some reason, that made me laugh.

                “Research sucks,” I said, ever eloquent, and he let out a small, polite chuckle. I wondered if he was ever anything other than polite. Once more, I felt this strange urge to piss him off and find out, but then Murphy threw open my door and I let the wards down for her, since Jack still had her charm. She stepped inside confidently, as if she owned the place herself, and in the sense that she helped me pay for it, she kind of did. I offered a smile as Jack hopped off of the couch and came to stand by her. She patted him thoughtlessly on the head and gave me a smile in return. “Who else are you planning on visiting today?” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight a little, Jack partially leaning against her shoulder. I noticed suddenly that the kid was almost as tall as her and couldn’t hide the little snicker.

                “I thought I’d go by Michael’s with Jack, see if he knows anything. He’d probably be able to look after him for a little bit, too, while I give Tilly a call, and maybe I’ll see if Rawlins is in. The Black Cats might know something.” I nodded and stretched on the chair.

                “Sounds good. Johnny over there came by and told me he’d take me out to lunch and bring me back to the 1914. Black Shroud seems like our best option, at the moment. Still, yeah, Michael probably has heard about something this dark. The Big Guy probably wants him on the case instead of us, as a matter of fact.” She laughed, somehow not at all confused by Johnny’s presence in my house.

                “I think He’ll take all the help he can get, at this point. Anyway, have you thought about giving Chauncey a call about this?” I winced a little because I had and honestly that ashamed me of myself, a little.

                “I’ve thought about it, yeah, but it’s too risky. He’s got too much of me already. If he comes across something I’ve given something else to then there’s a decent chance of me winding up dead.”  She looked a little bothered at herself for asking.

                “Don’t worry about it, then. We’ll figure this out. We always do,” she said, and it was rare that she tried to reassure me, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

                “Of course, Murph. Go on, take the kid. I’ll be good for the rest of the night, promise. Hell, I’m even getting a free meal so you don’t have to worry about me skipping any. Anyway, I’d tell you to be careful, but you’re visiting Michael and Rawlins, so I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine. Wish me luck?” She rolled her eyes.

                “You’ve got too much of that already. Bye, Dresden. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

                “Do my best,” I said, almost waving her off, and she looked like she wanted to hit me as she walked out. Johnny stood up and walked over to stand beside me and my chair.

                “Chauncey?” he asked, quiet and curious, apparently through being still and unobtrusive.

                “He’s just a demon I know. I used to summon him for information, but it’s gotten too dangerous to do it lately. Have you ever heard about a name’s power?” He shook his head. Most vanillas did. I don’t know why I was so surprised that he was no different. “Well, a person’s name, their true name, said perfectly, is a really powerful tool. I used to bargain with mine, like, I’d give a piece away for information. Chauncey ended up with a whopping three out of four before I realized what a stupid game I was playing. Plus he sort of tried to kill me the last time I called him up, so yeah. And Michael doesn’t like it anyway.” Johnny nodded and held out a hand as if I needed help getting out of the chair. I ignored it and stood on my own, and he settled it back at his side as if it had never been offered to me at all. I locked my apartment up behind me as we left.

                “Who is Michael, Harry? You speak fondly of him.”

                “My oldest friend in the city. He’s a carpenter by trade, but he’s also a Knight of the Cross, meaning chosen by one of the Holy Swords. He’s got Amoracchius, but we think it used to be called Excalibur. I met him in a church I was hiding in one night, and he took me in until I got together enough to rent my room now.” He cocked his head a bit and actually opened the damned car door for me. I rolled my eyes at him as I climbed in, but I guess he didn’t notice because he just went quietly to the other side and hopped in. The rumble of the engine was something close to relaxing.

                “I’d have thought Miss Murphy would have been your oldest friend. Or, perhaps, is there something else going on there?” I laughed.

                “Me and Murph aren’t dating, if that’s what you’re insinuating. We’re friends and we’re partners, that’s it. We’d… we wouldn’t work, not like that. We’re like siblings, sort of. I mean, I know she’s pretty and all, but it’s actually sort of hard for me to recognize it. Besides, she’s dating someone already, sort of.” He smiled and brushed his hair back from his face. He reminded me of someone for a second, but I couldn’t recall who, and I dismissed the recognition pretty quickly.

                “Sort of?”

                “It’s a casual thing. Hard to explain, to tell the truth. Either way, he’s a good guy more often than not, and loyal to a fault so long as he gets paid.”

                “A mercenary of sorts, then?” I nodded. “You know rather a lot of interesting characters, Mr. Dresden.” My laugh was comfortable and easy.

                “Man, you don’t know the half of it.” We pulled up to a quaint looking brick building and got out together. He kept me close as we walked in, a worried spark in his eyes that just didn’t seem to fit with his easygoing attitude. He almost looked like he was defending against something. I’d feel stupid when I figured it out, but at the time I just filed it away.

                Anyway, the inside of the building was done in soft whites and wine reds, a nice place with dim lighting and dull-eyed waiters that said yes sir and yes ma’am to everyone who spoke to them. They even called _me_ that, and that had to be something new. I looked around, amazed and gaping, as we were led to a table. A menu was placed into my hands, and my mouth fell open at the prices when I saw them.

                “Order anything you like, Harry,” Johnny said, and I realized for the first time that he had _money._ I mean, yeah, I’d figured he did, but it hadn’t been thrown into my face so obviously before now. I had no idea what to say because now I was being faced with the fact that he was not my people. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

                “Hell’s Bells, John,” I murmured, and he only smiled. “I don’t even know what this stuff is.” He pointed at something easily, dismissively.

                “I’ve always found that to be quite good,” he said, and I nodded.

                “Okay. I’ll take that and a glass of water,” I said, because water was free here. He seemed to know why I’d asked for water, but he didn’t argue, at least, although he did flag the waiter down instead of just waiting for him to come back like anyone else would’ve. He gave him our orders with easy precision, and the man inclined his head.

                “I’ll have it out right away, sir.” I looked around again, took in all the people in suits and pretty dresses, and felt suddenly a little inadequate. I didn’t even own a suit, strange as it seems in this day and age.

                “Are you really this rich, Johnny?” I asked, and he laughed quietly.

                “I suppose so. I hope this doesn’t mean you’ll close off from me now? I do enjoy your company, and I wouldn’t like to lose it only because I have money,” he told me, and I shook my head.

                “No, it’s just… well, most of my friends are better off than me, but not, you know, this. Nothing like this.” He shrugged.

                “It’s no trouble, I assure you.” I finally just had to laugh and shake my head. After that, everything was like before. I leaned back and stopped realizing how ratty I looked, and talked like I had in the car.

                “What do you do anyway, John?” The question seemed to throw him, for a minute, but he was back up to snuff in seconds.

                “I own a few businesses. I do a lot of my work in offices and such, all very boring, I assure you.” He was trying to avoid the issue, obviously. I let him, since I wasn’t a big fan of making people I hardly knew tell me all their secrets. Johnny seemed to have more than a few. It was okay, though, because I had more than a few myself. I let him change the subject to something mundane, small talk and questions we’d both heard a thousand times, but we still managed to make the other laugh time and again before the meal arrived. We’d only just started eating when a pretty brunette came up to the table and draped herself over John’s arm. She poured down the limb like water and looked like she’d be a lot more natural with a cigarette in her hand. Her hair was short and curled around her face, and her dress was short and sharp-looking where it sparkled. She really was pretty, I decided, and her soft eyes were fixed on Johnny with something like adoration. He stared at where she touched him as if he had insects crawling all over his suit, but he touched her hand anyway.

                “Johnny!” she said, using her free hand to play with the pearls around her neck. I decided that they were probably worth more than everything I had on at the moment. She turned a quick glance to me as if she expected me to get up and give her my seat. I shoved a bite of the delicious thing Johnny had recommended into my mouth and chewed defiantly. Half of his mouth turned up in a smirk before he turned his glance to her.

                “Lucille,” he replied, and she sighed.

                “Oh, John honey, don’t be so cold with me! I’ve quite a lot of friends with me today, and they’d simply love to meet you! Won’t you come join the party?” He raised an eyebrow and gestured at me.

                “As you can see, I’m here with a guest. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to continue enjoying my meal, as he and I have somewhere to be very shortly.” And that was a line of bull if I’d ever heard it. We had hours, yet, which actually made me wonder why he’d brought me out so early, now that I thought about it.

                “He looks like he ought to be getting the bum’s rush, not eating here. Won’t you come on with some people worth your time, John?” His smile was still polite, but now I saw something like an insult underneath. I shifted a little because even if I didn’t understand exactly what she was saying, I could mostly figure out that she was insulting me.   

                “Polite people don’t high hat someone’s friends.” She pouted, a little, but seemed sufficiently cowed because she let go of his arm and stepped back a little. Only a moment had passed before she had her smile stretching over her painted red lips again, though.

                “Alright, then. Cash or check, Johnny?” I blinked. What the hell did that mean? I’d heard people ask Murphy that before, and she’d always told them that the bank was closed. I’d asked her a couple of times what it meant, but she’d never say.

                “Check, sweetheart,” he said, and she seemed a little disappointed, but she walked off anyway. She did let her hand trail across his back as she did, though. I remained clueless.  John gave me a look, as if he expected me to say something, but I just shrugged.

                “Yeah, I was lost for most of that conversation. I’m bad at slang.” He let that sink in for a second, and then he just laughed, more open than I’d heard yet. The girl looked back at us for a split second, but then she got lost in the crowd again.

                “You must be the most interesting man I’ve ever met,” he said. “You didn’t miss much; she insulted you, I defended you, and she asked if I’d like a kiss now or later. I told her later.” I nodded.

                “Oh, that’s what that means. Murphy always refused to tell me.”

                “That’s what what means?”

                “Cash or check. Guys ask her that all the time. She calls most of them drugstore cowboys after we leave, but she never tells me what that means either.”

                “And how does she answer them, might I ask?”

                “She tells them that the bank is closed.” He nodded, still smiling.

                “She’s telling them no kiss at all, then, which seems expected from what I’ve heard of her thus far. Drugstore cowboys are men who loiter on the streets looking for pretty women, by the way.” Oh. Well, I had no idea why she hadn’t ever told me that, but it was nice to know anyway, and I told him so. “No trouble at all,” he replied. We want back to chatting mundanely afterwards, and I couldn’t help but think that one day we could maybe be friends. He paid for us not long after and stood, after which we went back to his quick little cherry car. I figured he’d take us to the 1914, obviously, but then he drove us towards the Water Tower Center, towards the shopping center located there. I tried to get all my confusion across with one look, but he only gave me that smile again.

                “I thought you might appreciate a good suit,” he told me, and I just kept staring.

                “Um. That’s not your responsibility? I mean, I could afford it, probably.”

                “You have quite a lot of ‘probablies’ when it comes to money, don’t you? I promise I haven’t got an issue with doing this. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to, you understand.” I squirmed a little; I wasn’t used to accepting gifts. I never had before, really. To have someone I barely knew throwing stuff at me was weird, and it made me a little twitchy.

                “I couldn’t accept something like that. I hardly know you.” He pulled us into the parking lot and patted my arm carelessly before he climbed out and opened my door.

                “I’d like to get to know you,” he said, and pulled me out. I felt like a paper doll unfolding himself, legs always too long and gangly, arms always crooked and unhelpful. He led me inside even though I was squirming. I realized I’d never even stepped foot inside that mall before in my life when he led me towards a store that shone like gold under bright white lights. The fitters inside had a minor heart attack when they saw me, and a regular sized one when they saw who I was with. Apparently he had a name here, and apparently they all wanted him to be made happy. That obviously involved me getting a suit, on this particular day, so that’s what happened. I got shoved onto a little pedestal and my limbs got tugged every which way so a tape measure could get all the lengths it wanted. I heard a couple of them murmur angrily about how my pants didn’t fit so they couldn’t get an accurate measurement of my inseam. I tried to hike them up a little to make it easier on them even though that bared my ankles even more than usual. They settled, and eventually I was all dressed up for the first time since I was a kid. It clung to me like a second skin, soft fabric like nothing I owned, and I gaped at myself because I hardly looked like me. Johnny stepped over to me and settled his hand on my lower back where I stood in front of the mirror even though it had to be an uncomfortable angle for his arm.

                “We’ll take it,” he said, and I was flung back into my old clothes faster than I could blink so that the employees could pack the suit up. John handed them a stack of bills that I tried to count but couldn’t because he handed them off so quickly. He then proceeded to drag me, protesting all the way, to a bunch of other stores where similar things happened and I left with a whole new wardrobe because he was somehow immune to my yelling. The whole afternoon was spent with good conversation, though, and sometimes he even managed to distract me of the fingertips prodding at me, which was probably a feat of titanic proportions. It was about a half an hour before five when we left the mall, and so he had no trouble driving me to the 1914. I went in without actually checking to see if he was following me (he was), and when I got into the actual club part, I saw the woman in the black shroud immediately, her body shadowy and dark in the far right corner of the place. I moved quickly to her and waved loosely, probably a little stupidly. She glared up at me with raised eyebrows, her hair and bits of her face covered with the shroud.

                “I have done nothing to garner your attention, Harry Dresden,” she said, her voice cold and annoyed.

                “I know. I’m not here for you; I’m here because my friend Mac told me that you might know something about what’s going on with a group of kids in town.” She jerked back a little as if I’d burned her, somehow.

                “Filthy magic,” she snarled, “filthy, filthy magic.” I nodded.

                “Yeah, I know. I can hardly stand looking at it, when I remove it.”

                “The White Council will not touch it. Why do you?”

                “I care about those kids. No one deserves to suffer like that.”

                “I suppose that is true. There is a beast here, in this city, hiding in the belowground. It works in silence and in shadow. It calls upon that which is long locked away, that which cannot enter of its own accord. The beast works so that the beast may create something more, something larger, although it does not know that. It thinks it works towards a simple goal, the death of few, but in truth its strings are not its own. The White Council _cowers._ ” I took a step back from her, from her cold eyes.

                “What do you mean, belowground? The subways? The sewers? Something else?”

                “Not the subways. The lights, they sting the beast as they would its servants. It hides in the sewers, Harry Dresden, deep and dark and hidden.”

                “How do you know all this anyway?” I finally asked, and she laughed.

                “Knowledge is a funny thing, Harry Dresden. Magic calls to me, and so I know of it. In fact, perhaps I know more of yours than you yourself. My past and my abilities are of no concern to you, however. You’ve better things to worry over, have you not? Leave me now.” I didn’t want to listen to her, really I didn’t, but I did anyway. My body reeled back stumblingly, and while I was admittedly clumsy, I wasn’t that clumsy, and I knew it was something she’d done. I crashed into Johnny’s chest and he caught me with a soft gasp.

                “I’ll assume it didn’t go well?” he asked me, and I laughed. The lady wasn’t looking at me anymore, and I felt almost like I’d never spoken to her at all.

                “I know where the bastard is, now. Let me go, I’ve got to find a payphone to call Murphy. She should be home by now, and if she isn’t I know Rawlins’ number.” His hands fell from me but he followed me outside nonetheless, and his eyes were wary again, like they’d been outside the restaurant. I swept quickly to a payphone across the street, and Johnny followed close behind me, his body stretching back like a shadow behind me. I tugged an old, grimy coin from my pocket and shoved it into the machine. Murphy picked up quickly, her voice a little harried.

                “Something happen, Dresden?” she asked me, and I was pretty sure she’d only just gotten in.

                “I know where the Warlock is. Black Shroud Lady told me, before she sent me stumbling off. We’ll go after him tomorrow, yeah? You can meet me at my apartment.”

                “Yeah, okay. You got more than me, by the way. Michael knew something bad was going on, but he hadn’t felt any pulls to anywhere specific, and Rawlins and the Black Cats were clueless just like Tilly. Jake checked on the other kids, by the way, and yes, I did tell him that was stupid, but I think he’s gotten your stubbornness, somehow. He says no one’s bad enough to need you again yet. I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t get sick again.”

                “Good. See you tomorrow?”

                “Yeah. Bye, Dresden.”

                “Bye Murph. Come by around ten. I want to get to the asshole at about noon, since it’ll probably be weakest then, when the sun’s out at its brightest.” I hung the phone back up and John hurried me back to his car. I didn’t argue because I was pretty sure he was just a little paranoid. A lot of rich guys were, though, so I figured it wasn’t anything to worry about. I actually have given people permission to hit me for being so damned dumb before, by the way, just in case you were considering it. He relaxed exponentially when we were both settled in the car, though, so I decided it was something that fell far short of a big deal.

                “Would you like dinner?” he asked me, and I shook my head.

                “Nah. I need to head home, let my cat in, feed my dog, all that good stuff. They get annoyed at me if I’m not there to tend to them, you know. Besides, you’ve bought me plenty today, and I’m expecting someone tonight.” That wasn’t a lie, exactly; I was expecting Bob to come back tonight with anything he’d learned. Plus I needed to at least make an attempt to map out the sewers, and see where all the likely hidey holes were. Maybe I could have a faction of my little pixie army, led by a Dewdrop fairy named Toot-Toot who I’ve long called a friend, scout ahead, or maybe Bob would be willing to do it. 

                “Perhaps I could stay here for a bit, then, order in for us.” I shifted on my heels and finally shook my head. I didn’t want him to accidentally see something in my apartment that would frighten him because I was growing to sort of like him despite my better judgment.

                “I don’t think that would be the best idea, Johnny.” He looked just slightly annoyed for a split second before he gave me a perfect smile that I couldn’t decide whether was real or fake.

                “Alright. I insist upon helping you and Ms. Murphy take down that thing harming the children tomorrow, however. I have employees who could be of great assistance, my bodyguards, you understand.” That sounded even more idiotic. I heaved a sigh as we pulled up to my apartment and I shifted to begin climbing out of the car.

                “John, you’re a mortal, and you’re vanilla to boot. You going with us against someone with enough fire power behind them to do this is as good as suicide, and I promise there’s less painful ways to pull that one off.” The smile he showed me then was different; it was full of teeth, sharp and wild, a smile like knives. It actually unnerved me a little because for a moment he didn’t look so vanilla.

                “You underestimate me, Harry.”

                “What kind of people could you possibly have, John?”

                “They’ve got guns, and I don’t believe you do.”

                “Guns are risky against practitioners. They might have time to cast a death curse, and with the heavy hitters that’s something you don’t want to happen. Murphy does carry one, by the way. She got a pistol from the Black Cats and something a little bigger from Kincaid. And I usually carry some kind of sword, along with my staff and my blasting rod, so we’ve generally got a decent sized arsenal.”

                “A death curse,” he said, almost incredulous, as if I was just making something up to keep him from coming.

                “Yeah. See, all practitioners have this core of magic that they don’t touch. Or, aren’t supposed to touch. I’ve done it a time or two, when I was desperate and out of everything else, but still. Anyway, they save this core for the moment that they’re dying, and if there’s someone alive that they want to get even with, they cast a death curse with that core and whatever else they happen to have on them at that moment. Death curses are usually violent, strong, and pretty much impossible to get rid of if a good practitioner cast it.”

                “I’m willing to take the risk, and I believe you need more than one person to help you.” I don’t know how, but I was positive at that moment that he wasn’t going to be dissuaded. I sighed.

                “Fine, Johnny. Like I told Murph, ten o’clock. If you’re late, we’re leaving. There might be a few other people there, though, depending on whether or not we’ve got any friends able to help out. Michael will probably be there, though, I know that for sure. Probably not Kincaid, though, if this is somehow under something that Ivy can’t talk about. And probably not the Black Cats since they’re vanilla, like someone else I know who’s insisting on coming along to kill himself.” He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, and maybe his hand lingered a little longer than normal, but I’d pegged him as a physical kind of guy, so I didn’t question it.

                “I promise you I won’t be a burden. As a matter of fact, perhaps I’ll even be a help to you. More men are generally useful in an operation like this.” That was the first time I was suspicious of him, of his true profession, by the way. Plain old business owners didn’t talk like that. I tried to smile and he seemed to realize that I’d grown suspicious because his smile relaxed into something more familiar, and with it I relaxed too. Yes, I do still know that I’m dumb, but I wouldn’t be for much longer. I climbed out of the car and went inside, giving him a backwards wave on the way. I don’t know if he bothered returning it because Mister made it so I couldn’t turn and check by slamming into the back of my knees and forcing me through the door with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bum’s rush- getting thrown out of a place  
> High hat-snub  
> Cash or check-kiss now or later  
> The bank’s closed-no kissing  
> Check-kiss later  
> Drugstore Cowboy-a man who hangs out on street corners picking up girls


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By Wednesday of next week, I should be entirely done with this, and considering the fact that it turned out about three or four chapters longer than I wanted it to, I'm going to switch to one-a-day posting. I'll of course reveal when that's going to happen.

                Bob returned at about nine o’clock that night with no new information, beyond the fact that whoever was doing this was not a thing to be trifled with since most of his contacts in the Nevernever hadn’t wanted to talk about it. He was able to tell me the likely spots for a practitioner to hide in the sewers, though, so I didn’t have to spend half the night looking for that bit of information, although we did have to pick out the most likely of those spots together and mark them on a little map I got sketched out. As a matter of fact, I even went to bed at what I think is a very reasonable eleven thirty. I did skip dinner, though. Shut up, I can’t just suddenly be perfect, okay? At least I was getting a little better. Anyway, the next morning I was awoken at an ungodly eight o’clock by someone knocking on my door. Or, more actually, I was awoken by Mouse pulling me out of bed because _he’d_ been awoken by someone knocking on my door. Details, details.

                I stumbled off the bed and walked to the door on unsteady legs, still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday because I hadn’t bothered to change when I fell into bed. I grabbed my staff and propped myself up on it as I yanked open my notoriously frustrating door. Johnny stood on the other side, dressed all in comfortable looking black clothes, the bulge of a gun hardly noticeable under his shirt. A group of about seven men stood beside him, all of them tall and broad, the most prominent of them being a red haired mountain of a man with pale blue eyes who hulked over everyone but me. They all carried bags that I was pretty sure contained the guns Johnny had old me about. I took a step back.

                “I said ten, John. What the hell is this?” He smiled, a soft curve of his lips that contrasted with the men with weapons barricading the space behind and beside him. “All those guys are not going to fit in my apartment. Hell’s Bells, whatever. Come in, I guess. I’m up anyway. I might have coffee if anyone wants any. Also, try not to touch anything on my shelves.” I pulled the wards down and stepped back, then let them all come in. Somehow, they managed to find enough seating to accommodate all of them. I’m pretty sure one of them, the mountain, took the chair out of my bedroom. Mouse panted at them and got his head scratched. I sighed. “Look, I’ve got to go make a call. Johnny, keep them on leashes.” I turned and walked out to the tune of his laughter, then went upstairs to the boardinghouse’s only phone. I picked up the phone and gave the operator Michael’s number thoughtlessly, and he picked up very soon after. I was just sort of glad it wasn’t Charity.

                “You want to go deal with the dark thing you’ve been feeling? I found out where it is, and I could use that sword of yours.” His voice was warm when he spoke, like always. Michael was never anything but warm, to be honest.

                “I believe that would be best, yes. When do you plan on leaving?”

                “Ten o’clock. Some asshole who invited himself along is already here. Fucker woke me up,” I grumbled, and Michael immediately began to admonish me; he hated it when I cursed. “Sorry, I’m tired. Say a prayer for me, yeah?” He chuckled.

                “Always. I’ll be there soon. I assume Karrin is coming as well?”

                “Yeah. I’m not planning on inviting anyone else, though, so unless she’s got someone in mind it’ll just be you, me, her, and the uninvited guest who brought along a small militia that are currently rearranging my furniture, so I need to go.” The chuckle turned to a laugh.  

                “Alright. Goodbye, Harry.”

                “Bye Michael.” We hung up and I went back downstairs to find that, yes, I did have coffee, and they had already made it and formed a neat coffee line. I sighed again and threw the jacket that was now occupying my chair off of my chair before I sat. John had a little smirk on his face.

                “Do you approve of them?” he asked softly, and I shrugged.

                “I’m not a good judge of bodyguards. I really hope they don’t take all my coffee. I mean, I know I offered it, but Murphy’s going to want some.” He shook his head.

                “You had an entire cupboard full of it, Harry, and they’ll only drink a cup a piece, if that.” I cocked my head.

                “I did? Huh. Someone must’ve brought me some, then. Whatever. Have you told them about the magic thing?” He nodded. “Good. Do you want to see where we’re going? I got a map drawn up last night.” He nodded, and I went into the subbasement again. I came back with the map and a bunch of men kind of stared at me. “What? You’ve never seen a man come out of his subbasement before? It’s not a big deal.” And so they began to ignore me. Well, that was probably for the best. Of course, the fact that they were ignoring me didn’t mean that they didn’t talk about me to John.

                “Where’d you find this guy, huh Boss?” Boss? Wouldn’t they call him Mr. Milano or something? Maybe I was just out of touch. John gave a quick glare to the man who’d spoken, the red head, before he answered.

                “I met him in the 1914, Mr. Hendricks, as I already explained.” The red head went a little wide eyed, before he nodded.

                “Sorry, Boss.” Johnny glared again but the man, Mr. Hendricks, seemed to neither notice nor care.

                “Yeah, I’d really rather not have people who are arguing come along. This is going to be dangerous enough as it is. Johnny, the location is marked on that map. You and your people check it out,” I said. “I’m going to go get dressed. Keep an eye on them, Mouse.” The dog made an uffing noise in the affirmative and turned dark eyes towards the men in the room as I went to my bedroom. Everyone gaped at the dog, who was smarter than the average bear more often than not, as I went into my room and dressed myself in my own dark clothes before I swung my duster, which was charmed all to hell, over my shoulders. The weight of it was comforting as it settled over my shoulders, and I fingered my blasting rod gently where it hung from a loop in the sleeve. I went back to my living room and chatted with John and his people until my door swung open and Murphy swept in with Michael at her side. I stood quickly and smiled, and Michael smiled too because we hadn’t seen each other in a while. He didn’t look any different from the last time, though, obviously.

                He was a tall guy, muscled from all the carpentry, with dark brown hair and a beard. Today he had his white cloak, too, and he held his arms out wide to me. I gave him the hug he was apparently after, quick and solid, and stepped back.

                “It’s nice to see you, Harry. Would you like to come over for dinner sometime soon? The children miss you dearly, as do Charity and myself.” I smiled crookedly, a loose, easy sort of smile, the sort he’d gotten from me ever since that first week we’d met, and I nodded.

                “Sounds good to me. Charity is a goddess in the kitchen.” Michael laughed, a low, rumbling sound that could sometimes sound more threatening than he ever meant it to. It didn’t, today.

                “I must agree. May I ask where we must go?”

                “Sewers,” I said, “the thing likes it dark.”

                “Alright. Will you be riding in my truck with Karrin and me?” I laughed.

                “Not unless she wants to sit on my lap, Michael. Can I catch another ride with you, Johnny?” I asked, and he, as expected, nodded.

                “Of course. There’s room enough in the backseat for the both of us,” he said, stepped closer to me and settled a hand on my shoulder. He gave a weird look to Michael, although I had no idea of why.

                “Cool. We should probably wait here a few more minutes, though, just so we can time this right. Do either of you want coffee? Johnny’s guys raided my kitchen and made some. There should be enough left for you two.” Michael told me he didn’t drink it anymore and Murphy asked for a cup and for some sugar, so I left and got it for her. When I got back, John was talking with Michael.

                “How did you and Harry meet?” he asked, and Michael smiled as if he were reminiscing on something fond. I wouldn’t have called our first meeting fond, though. Hell, I’d tried to punch him.

                “In church; St. Mary of the Angels, to be exact. I believe Father Forthill had offered him a room for the evening shortly after he moved here, and I was there to repair the roof. I, too, offered him a place to say, and he reacted rather poorly as he believed that I pitied him. You tried to hit me, did you not, Harry?” I nodded.

                “Yup. Almost got you, too, but you ducked out of the way last minute. You and Father Forthill convinced me that you were good people not too long after, though. I moved in with him and his wife and forty billion kids for about a month after that, then I moved into this place.” Murphy sipped her coffee, since she’d heard the story before, just like most people I knew. I mean, Stones, it wasn’t like it was some kind of big secret, really. Johnny looked weirdly pleased, though, and seemed to relax minutely. His hand fell from my shoulder, and as soon as Murphy gulped down her coffee we went outside and got in our respective vehicles. Hendricks drove the car I was in, with some other guy in the passenger seat, and Johnny and I rode in the back as I directed him to the entrance we were going to use. We didn’t talk much, though; it wasn’t the time for chats, it was time for action. I was the first one out when the cars stopped, and Murphy and Michael came quickly to stand in the front with me. I touched the pentacle that swung from my neck as we each climbed down and soft blue light flowed from it. I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped before I realized that it was John. Our footsteps sounded wet but I didn’t look down to see what we were walking through. Instead, I just kept going forward. I just kept walking. My friends breathed softly as I led the way, and then it happened.

                I felt something slam into my chest and throw me backwards hard enough that I fell on my ass, and the light from my pentacle was snuffed out. Darkness overcame the low-ceilinged corridor and suddenly I heard screaming. The gunfire came next, the orders falling hard and fast from John’s mouth, and I leapt up to my feet, jerking my blasting rod from my sleeve. I let fire blaze on the tip, a personal lighter, and lit the room once again. Shrieks rang out, and shadowy creatures I could hardly make out fell away. It was a struggle to keep the fire blazing, but I noticed where some of them hid, and so I stopped the little lighter trick and instead sent a flume of fire at them. I saw them burn, the little guardians, saw them reduced to dark ash. My breath came in thick, wet gasps and I lowered the plume of flame back to the candle spark. Michael turned to me and touched my arm.

                “You’re struggling. Shall I use my sword instead? We’ll need your magic.”

                “It might be best,” I said, and he slid his sword from its sheath, let it blaze with holy light, and I dropped the flame entirely. No one spoke again as we continued on, although I did roast a few of the creatures when I saw them hiding from the light in the cracks in the walls. Finally we emerged into a wide, seemingly empty chamber. I knew it wasn’t so, though, because just vaguely I could see the blurry form of a person standing in the center of the room, shadows swirling around it. I stepped closer, away from the others, and the blurry form grew clearer the farther from the light I stood.

                “Does the little Wizardling see?” the voice was a low, genderless husk, cracked and dry as old leaves.

                “Yes. Why don’t you show yourself to all of us, coward? Fighting from the shadows is easy, you know.” The voice laughed and I moved closer, got a little clearer image. I glanced behind myself and saw John coming closer too. Murphy tried to do the same, but Michael held her back. “Stay back there, Johnny. All of you stay back there.”

                “You fear for them. I wonder why. I’ve shown no inclination that I desire to cause them pain. You, though, little Wizardling… oh, I’d love to hear you scream.”

                “Most people don’t want that until they’ve known me at least a day, and I’m pretty sure we’ve only just now met. I don’t even know your name.” The figure laughed, and I was finally able to see it clearly once I was hardly a foot away. It wore a hood, heavy and dark, and what I could see of its face was gray and wrinkled, old skin, loose skin.

                “I may start to feel offended, Wizardling. We’ve met before. How else would I have known how to draw you in? Oh, those children, those poor little children come crying for your help. How could you, my noble Wizardling, ever refuse them? I so hope none of them are further harmed, but my pet is ever so hungry. Perhaps it will need to feast.” I set my jaw and raised my head and put as much defiance into my face as I could even though I didn’t exactly feel it, just then. “Do you remember me yet, Wizardling?”

                “I think I’d remember an ugly bastard like you,” I said, and then the figure took the hood from its head and I saw. I remembered. I took a step back and the figure, now recognizable as male, blurred at the edges again.

                “I was not so ugly when we first met, Wizardling. It was you who made me this way; please do not tell me that you have forgotten. It was you who stole my youth.”

                “Cassius,” I said, and he smiled. It pulled strangely at his long, leathery face, and I flinched. I called my fire to my blasting rod, but he shook his head.

                “Let’s not, Wizardling, not right now. Do you not want to know what has bound to the dear children? I could have used an outsider, of course, but I was not so cruel. They do not deserve to die so cruelly, not as you do. It is a rather powerful demon, however, and it did require my assistance to manifest on this plane, so I suppose it is as close to an outsider as a non-outsider can be. I can dispel it with a word, however. I shall if you lie down and die for me.” I stepped closer again because I had no reason to fear a him if he didn’t have his coin.

                See, he used to be possessed by a fallen angel who inhabited a silver coin, he used to be one of the Knights of the Blackened Denarius, he used to be a badass, but I got rid of his coin so now he wasn’t. Or, wasn’t as much of one. I could beat him. I at least knew why the Council hadn’t come, though; he was still technically under the Accords, so they couldn’t touch him. It was shitty and it was terrible but at least it was a reason, and at least I knew his big plan, now: kill me. It wasn’t very creative, obviously, but he was probably getting dementia by now, so I couldn’t blame him too much. I did have to worry about what the Lady had said, though; if someone else was backing him for reasons beyond seeing me dead, I needed to know about it and I needed to deal with it. I was about to speak again when I heard guns firing and turned around. Johnny had his people firing fucking tommy guns. I ducked, but Cassius didn’t. As if it mattered, though; he was hardly corporeal at the moment. The guns rattled on until they couldn’t anymore, at which point John just stared and Murphy looked ready to kill him and Michael just looked worried. I stood again and decided my best bet was to just continue talking to the man.

                “Why haven’t you gotten your coin back, Cassius? I know the church doesn’t have it anymore.” He gave me a bitter, yellow-toothed smile.

                “Nicodemus no longer finds me to be useful. You, though, oh, he wants you so badly he can nearly taste it. Anduriel does as well. They must, to so blatantly throw the temptress at you as they have. Yet, you’ve not taken it. Strange little Wizardling, so unlike myself. It will feel sweet to rob Nicodemus of his prize as he robs me of my youth and of my power.”

                “You’re not robbing anyone of anything,” I said, and that was when the real battle started because Cassius dropped whatever it was making him not solid and my magic blazed towards him in the form of fire. It lanced through the air and he met it halfway with some of his signature snake magic. The damned things flew through the flames as if they were nothing and I narrowly avoided being pierced by teeth that dripped with venom.  

                “Is that so? You’ve strange friends now, Harry. I’d have never thought you’d be one to bring the infamous Gentleman John into the same fight as a Knight of the Cross.” I didn’t have time to freeze even though his words came as a shock. John was suddenly beside me and it didn’t take long for me to reconcile his face with the one I’d sometimes seen in the society pages, at least not now that I was looking for the resemblance. He was not kind-hearted business owner John Milano; he was Gentleman Johnny Marcone, Chicago’s mob boss. I felt a little betrayed, honestly, because he’d met me and he’d lied to me and he’d kept lying to me and he brought his fucking goons into my home. He pulled his own gun and fired off a few shots but Cassius could work a shield just like me. I fired force at him and he crashed into a wall, where I did my damndest to pin him with more of the force. He broke loose, though, and instead sent one of his snakes to tangle in my legs and make me fall. He had been hiding a knife in his robes.

                “Yeah, well, that’s news to me,” I finally said, and Michael and Murphy were too worried to care about any of this new information too. I’d probably freak out about it later, if I managed a later. It was at that point, though, that Murphy and Michael decided to join in. Murphy just charged up, aiming her gun as she ran, and Michael held his sword out in front of him. The fight didn’t last long after that, honestly, but not because we won. No, just because Cassius knew we would win if he stayed, and was smart enough to flee. He disappeared into the Nevernever without a trace, his snakes going with him and a note left behind. On it I found the words to the spell to get rid of the demon. Apparently the fucker had a soul after all, no matter how fucked up the fallen had made it. I did at least make sure to check it over thoroughly before I used it, though. What I’m trying to say, however, is that the spell worked, and I felt it the moment the demon was lifted from the city. Johnny cleared his throat at me as we began walking out of the sewers.

                “Harry,” he began, but I cut him off.

                “Don’t call me that. I recognize you now. I should have before. Criminal scumbags aren’t allowed to call me Harry.” He took on this mildly frustrated look, and Murphy and Michael moved just slightly to stand on either side of me, to separate him from me.

                “None of us noticed, Harry. I think we were too desperate for the help,” Murphy said, and I knew she was trying to comfort me because she called me Harry instead of Dresden. Or maybe she was just showing off the fact that she could to Marcone. Michael clasped my shoulder gently but firmly.

                “And so you see why I lied to you. I’m the same man now as I was then. I’m the same man whose company you’ve enjoyed these past few days.” I shook my head.

                “Nope. You’re an asshole who runs guns and booze and drugs and who happens to be funny and easy to get along with. Thank you for the help on this case; I’m grateful, really I am. In fact, I’m so grateful that I’d like to give you all the stuff you gave me back so you can get your money back. And hey, you’ll never ever have to see me again! Most people who meet me usually love it when I tell them that.” He attempted to reach beyond Michael to touch me, but Michael’s a big guy and he can make himself a whole lot bigger when he wants to.

                “You are being ridiculous, Harry.”

                “I told you not to call me that, _Milano,_ ” I hissed, “Or, I guess you’d probably prefer being called by your real name now, right Marcone? I don’t think I’m overreacting, okay? I don’t like it when people lie to me. If they don’t want to tell me something, fine, whatever, people have their right to secrets. If it doesn’t pertain to a case I generally don’t give a damn. The only thing I hate is when someone blatantly lies to me, and you did. You made me think you were just some unassuming businessman who just so happened to enjoy my company for some probably masochistic reason, I assume so you could get a Wizard’s trust and then get him on your payroll. Well, I’ve got news for you: I’m not for sale.” Murphy got this really proud look on her face as we emerged into the light of day once again. She squeezed my bicep; at least he hadn’t managed to lie to me for long, I guessed.

                “While I am perfectly willing to admit that I would have no problem with you working for me, that is not why I befriended you, or attempted to do so at the very least. I did that simply because I do like you, Harry.”

                “Do not call me that. Take your cars and take your people and go. I’m going back to my apartment with Michael and Murphy. Try to forget where said apartment is, if you wouldn’t mind.” And so, I left with my two friends, and yeah, maybe I actually did overreact a little, but I’ve got a bad history with people lying to me and Marcone was suddenly everything I claimed to hate. Forgive me for being angry. I felt those damned green eyes boring holes into my back as I scrambled into Michael’s truck, and Murphy and Michael climbed in beside me so I was sandwiched almost painfully between the two of them. We drove off and Marcone’s eyes stayed on me the whole way. I did at least get my first good night of sleep in a while that night, though, since I wasn’t worried over the kids anymore.

* * *

 

                Murphy called me early the next morning to inform me that we were taking the day off, as was our tradition after a big case, and that later she and I were going to Mac’s for dinner. I, obviously, had no qualms about that, but before any of that happened, and since I was already upstairs anyway, I decided to go tell the guy that my case was over so I could go out with him the next evening I was free, and then go for a walk to relax a little. Maybe I’d even give some thought to who Cassius’ backer could be, and what their big plan could’ve been. Anyway, I went down the hallway, towards the other boarders’ bedrooms, and knocked loudly on one of the doors. Obviously the guy I was actually looking for didn’t answer, but someone I’d seen him talking to (arguing with? I couldn’t recall) at some point did. He leaned against the doorframe and raised his eyebrows at me, at which point I realized it was pretty early in the morning and I might’ve woken him up. Oops.

                “Yeah, um, I’m looking for…” it was at that point that I realized I still didn’t remember his name. Hell’s Bells. “That guy that was talking to me by the phone yesterday.” He stared at me.

                “You razzing me, Bat? I don’t sit around all day waiting for you to come up here and call your bearcat. I got no damn idea who was by the phone when you did it yesterday.” I sighed and hoped I could bullshit my way through the slang enough that I didn’t inadvertently insult him.

                “I’m not,” I said, even though for all I knew I may have been, “Sorry. He’s a big guy, dark hair, dark eyes. Dresses pretty well for a place like this, usually.” Understanding dawned in the other man’s eyes.

                “You’re looking for Mickey,” he said, “He’s two doors down.” I nodded and thanked him, and he looked confused for a second before he shut the door in my face. I walked two doors down and knocked again, and shortly after the familiar face revealed itself. It split in a grin, too, and he reached out to clap me on my shoulder hard enough that I nearly buckled.

                “Bat! You done working? You wanna go out with me?” The questions came in a rapid-fire barrage, and I stepped back a little.

                “Tomorrow night, if that’s okay. My partner and I are going out tonight to have dinner.” He kept up his grin.

                “Yeah, alright. Tomorrow night. I’ll swing by your door before I leave.” I agreed, waved goodbye, and walked off. He watched me go, but I didn’t think much of it, instead just heading downstairs and walking out the door.

* * *

 

                I didn’t really have any particular destination in mind, but then I hardly ever did when I went on one of my walks. It was kind of a dumb habit, I knew that, and Murphy told me I should start being more careful about them all the time now, but it was one habit I’d never been able to break from my teenage years when I lived with Eb. Anyway, I just walked, and eventually I found myself heading towards a park, so that’s where I decided to go. A park would be as good a place to sit and think as any, really. Hell, maybe I should’ve just made my decision to go here before I left, then Mouse could’ve come along. He hasn’t gotten a good long walk in a while. I decided I’d take him for one the next day, before Mickey (it was nice not calling him the guy anymore, if only so he wasn’t getting all blurred together with all the other “the guys” I knew) came by to take me drinking. I walked through the open area that I assumed denoted the entrance to the park and somehow managed to not notice the car tailing me. Yes, I actually am that stupid; I promise I’m not faking.

                I plopped down onto park bench and yawned because yeah, it was pretty early and I wouldn’t normally be up, but one simply does not ignore a call from Murphy no matter the time. I tilted my head back and stared up at the smudgy, grayish blue of the sky and couldn’t imagine myself being anywhere else. Chicago was frankly magical, when you let it be so. People of various ages wandered around all around me, but at the moment I was just a face in the crowd, unimportant in the grand scheme of their lives, and it was sort of a nice break. I thought of the encounter with Cassius and couldn’t help but feel a little nervous despite the calm. No matter what I’d said about his lack of a coin, Cassius was still a high-end Wizard. I had good reason to be wary of what he could do; he’d proven as much to me. And I was basically the one who ruined his life. I wondered when Murphy would be asking for the story, because I knew she didn’t know it. Everything with Cassius had happened before she became my partner. Michael knew about it, though. Maybe he’d mentioned it or something, and that was why she didn’t ask. Or maybe she just didn’t want to pry into something I didn’t want pried into like she had a few times before, although she normally asked at least a vague question about something first so she could judge whether or not I wouldn’t want to talk about it. I sighed.

                What I was trying to think was that Cassius wasn’t going to give up on killing me. He’d come back. I wondered how hard it’d be this time to keep other people out of the fray. Murphy never listened when I said a fight of mine wasn’t her business, and I didn’t really expect her to; she wouldn’t be herself, one of my best friends, if she did. It’d be nice if she gave a damn about her not dying like I did, though. I appreciated her help on the majority of my cases, her input, but when I was fighting against someone like this, someone with a grudge against me, I didn’t like involving my friends because people like that weren’t above hurting them to hurt me. It had happened before. I felt myself flinch away from memories that couldn’t touch me, memories I tried not to remember, but it was over quickly enough. I’ve had practice.

                The breeze was cool on my face, which I appreciated, until it was suddenly blocked from me, along with the pale sunlight. My eyes flicked open and I jerked upright only to find myself face to face with Marcone. I’d have moved back if I could’ve, but he had me blocked against the bench. He smiled at me as if yesterday hadn’t ever happened and looked at me as if he expected me to move over and make room for him.

                “What do you want, scumbag?” I finally asked, when it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything.

                “I was hoping for a conversation,” he told me, and I shook my head.

                “I’d rather not. You haven’t come to get your shit out of my apartment, by the way.” He cocked his head and his smile took on a sharper edge.

                “I believe you told me to forget where that was.”

                “You can remember long enough to come get that stuff. I don’t need hand-outs. I’ve taken care of myself for nigh on twenty three years.” He didn’t make his confusion obvious, but I could still see it flitting about behind his eyes. I made sure not to look too hard; if I hadn’t wanted to Soul Gaze with him before, I sure as hell didn’t now.

                “You don’t appear that old. I’d hardly be willing to call you twenty-one,” he told me, and I shrugged.

                “You’re eight years off. Wizards look younger than they are because we live so damned long. It helps vanillas not get so suspicious, you know? Most vanillas would get pretty curious about the guy down their street who looks eight hundred years old, but not the one who looks eighty.” I couldn’t resist adding on the little explanation. Not many people ever ask me about magic even though I love talking about it, so I take any chance I can get to give someone an impromptu lesson or fact, even if I don’t particularly like them. Although it was hard to consider myself not liking Marcone; I’d thought he was a good person before. I couldn’t reconcile him with the man I’d been getting to know, though.

                “You’re nearly thirty? I’d have never guessed,” he murmured, and I rolled my eyes.

                “I’m not fishing for compliments Marcone. Tell me what you want and go away. I’m busy.” He sighed.

                “You appear to be sitting in a park in the middle of winter with rather thin clothing on. I can’t imagine what you could possibly be busy doing.”

                “I’ve got a jacket,” I said, waving my duster-covered arm, “And I’m busy thinking.” He got that frustrated look on his face again and I relished in putting it there; the urge to annoy this particular man came back with a vengeance once I found out who he actually was.

                “I find it hard to believe that you’ve been taking care of yourself since you were six, Harry,” he finally said, apparently not willing to drop what I’d said earlier even though I’d gotten him off topic for a little while. I turned sideways and put my feet on the other half of the bench so he couldn’t get any clever ideas about sitting beside me.

                “How many times do I have to tell you you’re not allowed to call me that anymore? As for that, I was an orphan. My mom died when I was born and my dad died when I was six. I got passed from orphanage to orphanage and from family to family for a while, so most of the time, yeah, I was looking after myself and what stuff I actually did own.”

                “You were able to keep your possessions?” he asked, taking the fact that I was parentless unusually well. I was used to people throwing apologies and platitudes at me, as if I still cried about it every night or something, as if they’d both just died the day before. The change was admittedly welcome, but I wouldn’t ever tell him as much.

                “A few. This,” I said, picking up my pentacle and giving it a tiny tug, “And an old photo of my dad.”

                “I have often wondered about that necklace,” he said, and I shrugged.

                “It was my mom’s. She left it to me when she died. My dad always told me to never take it off because she’d loved it. It represents the five facets of magic,” I told him, “Fire, earth, water, air, and spirit. All of them bound in a circle of human control. Power balanced with restraint.” I’d spoken those particular words often enough that I knew them as well as a prayer.

                “It appears as if it’s missing a gem at its center,” he said. I wasn’t quite sure if he was just stating a fact or if he was trying to call me careless or something, insult me somehow. I took a deep breath because he was getting kind of annoying either way.

                “If it is then it got lost before my parents met because my dad never mentioned it and I’ve never seen it with a gem in it. Will you just tell me what you want to tell me and go? Like I said, I’m not going to get an excessive amount of time to myself for the next few days, and I want to make use of it.”

                “May I have the phone number to your boardinghouse?” he asked me, and both of my eyebrows shot up to my hairline.

                “Stars and Stones, no. Why would I give you that?”

                “So that I have a way to contact you.”

                “You don’t need one.”

                “I do not want to lose whatever friendship I may have been forming with you, Harry.” I had to laugh at that.

                “Is that so? Maybe you shouldn’t have lied to me, then. I hate liars.” He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers for a moment.

                “I lied because I felt as if I had to in order to get you to allow me in. Would you have allowed me to do all I have done if I simply walked up and informed you that I am who I am?” I didn’t know, to be honest.

                “I have no idea. Probably not, if you want me to tell you the truth, but I wouldn’t be so angry right now if you had. I’d have at least thought you were an honest criminal scumbag.” He let out this upset, annoyed sort of noise and gestured for someone to come over. I moved my legs, shifted sideways, and managed to stand up and squeeze around him.

                “You see? You don’t trust me anymore. Do you really believe that I would hurt you now, Harry?”

                “I don’t know the answer to that either. I don’t know you, Marcone; how could I possibly know whether or not you want me hurt? Maybe I got in your business years ago and pissed you off somehow, or maybe I’ve done something to you recently, or maybe you’re telling me the truth and you just want to go be my best friend. I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care. If you’re going to insist on fucking with my free time here, I’m going to continue my walk elsewhere.” He caught me by the arm and I felt someone come up behind me. I glanced and discovered that it was the mountain from yesterday, Hendricks. “Down, Cujo,” I murmured, mostly to myself, but they probably heard me anyway.

                “You realize that I have a car, correct? I don’t think you can run that fast.”

                “My apartment isn’t that far away. I’m pretty sure I can get there before you run me down. Or, actually, Michael’s house is like a block from here, so yeah. And he has a truck as well as a standing offer to let me live in his guest room. So I think I’d be pretty okay.” He gritted his teeth.

                “Damn it, Harry, can you please just have a civil conversation with me? I’m trying to explain my reasons and get you to treat me as you did before, but you are not cooperating with me. Don’t you understand? I could have done whatever I pleased with you then, and I could do the same now, but I am choosing not to. I don’t want you hurt; I like you, strange as that may sound. You’re interesting. I would like to befriend you.” He sounded like he did when I asked him why he was doing everything he was before. I jerked my arm hard and he let go of it, after which I proceeded to squeeze between him and his prized goon and stride off. I heard their footsteps behind me, and noticed a payphone not too far off. I marched over to it and took another dirty coin from my pocket, slid it in, and once more gave the operator Michael’s number. This time, Charity did pick up.

                “Hello?” she asked, and I spoke quickly seeing as how they were coming up behind me.

                “Charity, it’s Harry Dresden. I’m not calling because I want to get your husband murdered. I just need to come over for a little while. Maybe, like, an hour.” She must have heard something urgent in my voice because she didn’t passively insult me and everything about my lifestyle one little bit.

                “Of course. The children will be pleased to see you.”

                “Thanks,” I said, and hung up the phone without any goodbyes, which would probably get me scolded when I got there. They were pretty much directly behind me when I turned around, but I still just stepped around them and walked out of the park. The bastards didn’t even bother to use their car; they just stayed after me on foot. My legs were long, though, so I was able to keep ahead pretty easily. Apparently Hendricks had really long arms for a mountain, though, because all of a sudden I felt his meaty hands wrap around my elbows and pull me to a stop.

                “The phone number, Dresden.” I writhed and jerked, but he held fast.

                “You do realize I could kill you right now, don’t you?”

                “You won’t,” Hendricks said. I glared at the sidewalk under my feet, at his dark leather shoes behind my feet.

                “I could hurt you, too. You’re lucky I’m me; if you pulled this with some of the Wizards I know, they wouldn’t bother with the formality. You’d just be dead.” He sighed and Marcone came up to stand in front of me, where he lifted up my chin and made me look at him. I just bared my teeth in a quick flash, and then went blank and dull.

                “Just give me that phone number and I’ll leave you to go wherever you like.” I didn’t have to pick up, I decided. If Mrs. S came down and told me he was asking for me I could just tell her to tell him I was out. It wouldn’t change anything, and he’d leave me be if I did. I spouted the number off and watched as he scribbled it down in a little pad, and then waved Hendricks off of me. I shook out my arms, shoved him out of my way (I felt a gun under his jacket), and went to Michael and Charity’s until I decided it was time to go to my apartment to meet with Murphy. She was already there when I arrived, and we left together in her car, both of us smiling even though my nerves were jangling; Mac’s collection of thirteens would certainly be good for me just then. I did manage to wonder why I hadn’t just given him a fake number, though, and I couldn’t come up with an answer.

                I tried to forget about my encounter with Marcone as we ate, and after a few teacups full of Mac’s finest I mostly managed it. Murphy and I had a nice dinner, joked and laughed like always, and she told me she planned on putting Jack into school. I told her I approved of that and we talked some more, talked until long after night fell, and then she dropped me off back at my place. I fell into bed and ignored Mrs. S’s note saying that I’d missed a call from someone named Milano while I was gone. Mouse and Mister both slept with me that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Razz-make fun of  
> Bearcat-fiery/hot-blooded woman


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter a day from here on, since I finally finished it! And what an epic it is, I have to say! It ended up about four chapters longer than I was planning but hey, I guess I can't complain! Hope you all enjoy the remainder of it!

                The next morning was uneventful; I took Mouse out for a walk after I ate a quick breakfast of overdone eggs, which he thoroughly enjoyed, and then I came home and worked on potions for about an hour. After that, I went upstairs and read for the majority of the day because it was a Saturday and Saturdays were my day to do whatever the hell I wanted unless I actually was working a case at that exact moment. Mickey knocked on my door at about seven, and when I did I stood and went to his car, a dented, gray thing that sort of puttered instead of moved. I didn’t have much of a right to complain, though. Anyway, apparently the 1914 was literally the biggest speakeasy around because that’s where he brought me.

                He kept his hand on my shoulder when he led me inside, and when he spoke his voice was slow and rumbling. I answered when he asked me questions and spoke when I figured I should, but he was far from the most interesting person I’d ever met. He gave me a little push to get me into a chair when we got to the place where I’d seen him the other day, his friends already scattered liberally around. It was at that moment that I saw Marcone, who sat in the same corner as before, face half-shadowed by his fedora again, but at least I was pretty sure that he didn’t see me.

                “Lemme get you a drink, Bat,” Mickey told me, and I shrugged.

                “Sounds okay. Call me Harry, by the way. The nickname is getting annoying.” He laughed, raucous, and if I hadn’t have known better I’d have said he was already drunk.  

                “Alright, Harry. So, what’s your poison?” I glanced over at Marcone again and found him to be chatting with the same woman we’d seen at that place he’d brought me for lunch. Good, at least that way I could be really sure he wouldn’t notice me while I was here.

                “Beer, if they’ve got it,” I said, and he nodded.

                “Sure thing. Have a nice chat with the boys while I’m gone, make nice, yeah? I’ll be back soon. You assholes want anything?” he asked his friends, and various orders got shouted to him over the din. He turned and walked off to the bar when they were done, leaving me alone with them. I waved like a dumbass. They laughed.

                “Harry, huh?” one of them said, “Didn’t think Mickey hung out with pikers like you. Hiding behind a dame, that’s low.” I rolled my eyes because I could pretty well guess what he’d just told me.

                “That ‘dame’ could kick the ass of anyone in this room. Twice. With a blindfold on.” They snickered.

                “That so? Maybe you ought to prove it, man.” I shrugged.

                “That’s her place, not mine. She’ll do what she needs to, but she’s no show off. I don’t really like it when people make fun of my friends, by the way.” One of them reached out and grabbed my shoulder, shook me a little.

                “We’re just razzing you a little, come on. Don’t be a wet blanket, it’s a party! So, our resident darb says you live in his boarding house. That so?” I nodded.

                “Yeah, he lives in the upstairs part, I live in the basement.”

                “That how you met him?” I shrugged again.

                “Sort of. I usually keep to myself. Technically the first time I ever talked to him was when he recognized me when I came in here.”   Mickey came back afterwards with a tray full of drinks in nondescript glasses, and after that (obviously) the conversation began to flow as easily as the bootleg. Even I got a little drunk, which was admittedly pretty rare for me.

                “Look at him, look at him!” one guy laughed, “The pill’s getting ossified. Who woulda thought it? Maybe ya pick ‘em better than we figured, Mickey.”

                “’Course I do,” he grumbled, slinging an arm over my shoulder, “Guy slays me. All that… that weird shit he says. Hilarious.” I laughed, maybe a little too loud, and then the conversation turned elsewhere. One of the men pointed over at Marcone and the girl, who were apparently kissing now. I felt something twitch in me, but I didn’t know what it was, so I just kind of ignored it. That usually worked for me. Anyway.

                “When did Lucille get Marcone for a daddy?” the man who pointed asked, and Mickey shrugged. I felt it more so than I normally would have because he was mostly propped on top of me at that point.

                “Hooch does funny things to a man,” he said, and gestured widely, “Suppose even good old Saint John will go for a dumb Dora gold digger if she gets him drunk enough first. Hell, she ain’t bad to look at.” They all talked a little more shit and then Marcone pulled away from her and his eyes turned to our table like he’d heard them talking. They caught mine, and suddenly his lips tensed and he stood up.

                “Shit, you think he heard us?”

                “I ain’t getting bumped off for something that damned stupid.”

                “I’m out. See you later, Mickey.” The table was empty but for Mickey and I in a blink. I gaped as Marcone came up to our table. Mickey stopped leaning on me and stood up even though he was swaying. I steadied him with a hand on his arm because again, by that point I was maybe buzzed, but nothing more. It takes truly excessive amounts of alcohol to actually get me drunk. He gave me a grateful look.

                “Harry. I didn’t think you kept such unfavorable company,” Marcone said, sounding as if he hadn’t drank a drop even though I’d seen him throwing stuff back ever since I’d been there.

                “Not since you, no.” He gritted his teeth and slammed his hands down hard enough that the table rattled. The woman began walking over to all of us.

                “Damn it, Harry,” he hissed, and grabbed my wrist. “You are the most frustrating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

                “Then leave me alone.”

                “No,” he said, and the woman’s hand settled on his shoulder.

                “Johnny, honey, come back to the table. Don’t bother with a bird like him.” At least I knew what bird meant. Marcone shrugged her off.

                “If you must insult him at least do it in a way he’ll understand,” he growled at her, and her lips formed into a perfect, red-rimmed “O”.

                “Don’t worry about it, Marcone. I’ve heard that one before; Murphy explained it to me.” He gritted his teeth again and jerked my wrist hard. I felt the bones protest as they were ground together and winced a little. 

                “I’ll take you home. Neither you nor Mickey are in any state to drive.” I managed to squirm my wrist back into my own possession. He stared at where it had been as if I’d just done the greatest magic trick known to mankind.

                “You’re drunker than me, dumbass. Come on, Mickey. We’ll catch cab; I’ve got enough on me.” Mickey shook his head.

                “I invited you out, I’ll pay for the ride,” he said, voice a little hoarse with the liquor, and I shrugged. I wasn’t going to protest too much, if he really wanted to pay for it. We turned to walk out and Marcone actually stumbled when he came to catch up to us. He curled his hand like a claw in the back of Mickey’s jacket and whipped him around. Mac would’ve thrown them both out on their asses five minutes ago.

                “You or your boys touch him, Mickey, and we’re going to have a problem.” Mickey started to shake his head, but it seemed to make him feel vaguely ill, so he stopped.

                “He ain’t involved, Johnny. He ain’t. We got no reason to do shit.”

                “Those bastards are good at making a reason, Mickey, and you damn well know that.”

                “He won’t. I like him, Johnny, ain’t nothing gonna happen to him.” Johnny didn’t look convinced, and I realized suddenly that apparently Mickey was involved in the mob too. I guessed someone had stuck a blinking sign to my back that said that I desperately desired criminal company. I decided to have Murphy check, and then I decided that maybe I was a little drunker than I thought.

                “I hear a word, Mickey, one word…” he trailed off and Mickey laughed like a mad man.

                “Yeah, yeah, Hendricks is gonna be taking me for a ride,” he said, and when Marcone laughed back he sounded something close to feral.

                “Hendricks? No. I’ll do it myself. I like him as well, Mickey; whether he wants to be or not, he’s one of mine.” We left on that note, and Mickey hailed a cab. We talked a little on the way home, but not as much as we had on the way down, mostly because Mickey was nearly sleeping on me by the time we got back. I shook him awake and paid the cabbie myself after I hauled him out of the car and set him on his way up the stairs to his rooms. I had the vague thought that actually, maybe I should see him there to make sure he didn’t fall and hit his head or something when someone snuck up behind me and bashed me over my own head. I was pretty sure a baseball bat did the job, by the way, and yes, I do have experiences from which I have references to know. No, I don’t think that’s sad at all, what are you talking about?

* * *

 

                I awoke up as I was being lifted out of the trunk of a car. Yes, that is exactly as degrading as it sounds, and yes, I did attempt to kick the shit out of the face of whoever was holding my legs. The nice people who’d kidnapped me put a stop to that pretty quickly, though, because they put me on my feet and then put a gun to the back of my head. Now, I’m a Wizard, yeah, but I’m just as susceptible to a bullet to the brain as the next guy, so I stayed still. The stillness might have had something to do with the fact that my hands were bound too, but that’s probably just a minor reason.

                It was dark enough wherever we were that I couldn’t make out the face of whoever it was that was standing in front of me. All I could tell was that whoever it was was a big guy and he had the most infuriating moustache ever. It was thin and spindly and pathetic and really I wondered why he didn’t just shave it off. I focus on the most important things when I’m about to get shot, by the way. I heard the person behind me cock the gun and hoped that whoever it was that had wanted me dead would at least tell me why because I couldn’t recall any particular reason for this to happen on this particular day, and I’d always hoped that when I died I’d at least know why I was dying.

                “Get a wiggle on, Dresden,” I heard the guy behind me murmur, his voice low and a little distorted, and he jammed the gun harder into the back of my head. I started walking forward slowly, carefully, because the ground was uneven and I didn’t want to get shot just because I was clumsy and a fall made them think I was running.

                “Good man,” the guy in front said, his hands on my shoulders to keep me pinned. I wondered how he managed to walk backwards without falling and decided that the universe was simply a horribly unfair kind of place. We walked through an open door, into lights, and the gun at my head was gone for a second as the man behind me shut the door behind us. It was back too quickly for me to do anything, though, and I just started taking in the surroundings.

                We were in a nice house, a big house, a house that screamed money, but I was moved up a flight of stairs before I could take in many specifics. It was the same until we reached a thick wooden door, and I was shoved through it and onto my knees. I snarled a little at the indignity and took a look at the two people in front of me.

                One of them was older, his hair fully gray and his face lined, his stomach rounded like his face, but he was anything but jolly; his mouth was set in a thin frown, instead, and his eyes were cold. The one beside him couldn’t have been more than twenty five or thirty, though. He had a lean face with a thick, puckered scar down his left cheek, and he used his hair to hide a little of it. Still, I wouldn’t have described him as attractive even without the mark; his jaw was too squared off and his nose was wide and flat, crooked in places where it had very obviously been broken and improperly healed, and his eyes looked watery and piggish. The older one offered me a wan smile. I growled.

                “What the hell? I’m pretty sure I haven’t pissed off any guys like you, okay? At least not recently. I mean, if you were going to kill me you probably should have done it after that one time I interrupted some kind of deal thing with a very impromptu explosion.” The younger guy suddenly looked really, really angry, and I thought for a second that maybe I just should’ve shut my stupid damn mouth.

                “Son of a bitch! That was you?” I shrugged.

                “Depends on if you’ll kill me for that.” He looked ready to tell me that yes, yes he would kill me for that, but then the older man held out a hand in front of his chest and he settled.

                “My apologies for my son, Mr. Dresden. He’s a bit hot tempered, I’m afraid. We hold no grudges against you for whatever you may have done to us in the past; as a matter of fact, we hold no qualms with you at all. I’ve had you brought here simply because of an associate you’ve found.” Hell’s Bells. When I found whoever had stuck that sign on my back I’d kill them. 

                “Any mob ties I have are entirely coincidental and will be eradicated as soon as that’s a thing that’s possible.” The older man laughed.

                “I’m afraid that’s the opposite of what I’d like to happen, Mr. Dresden.” He stood up from behind his desk and came over to stand in front of me. His thick, vaguely sweaty fingers pressed under my chin to make me look up at him. I realized that he looked a whole lot more like the stereotypical mafia don that parents told their kids to fear than Marcone did. “What I want is for your allegiances to shift to me.” I snorted.

                “Yeah, that’s going to be a problem. See, the only one who owns my allegiance is, you know, me and my clients.” He moved his hand to pat my cheek. I felt demeaned and wanted, very suddenly, to show him the exact reason why one shouldn’t insult a Wizard. I stifled the urge quickly, though; that wasn’t what I wanted to be. No, said a voice that hurt because it sounded like me, it’s just what you were made to be. I ignored it like always.

                “Perhaps you could think of me as a very permanent client.” I shook my head.

                “Look, was it me talking to Mickey or me talking to Marcone that pissed you off? I’m done with the both of them, and I’m not getting involved with you. Marcone fooled me and I didn’t ask Mickey enough questions before I went out for a drink with him and his friends. I was stupid, I’ll admit it. I have no idea exactly who you are and I don’t care to know. I’m not in the mob’s pocket and I’m not going to be. Now let me go before I get these ropes off and make it so you don’t have a house anymore.” He moved his hand again to squeeze my jaw and I gritted my teeth so I didn’t show that it hurt.

                “Mickey is one of my people, and his friends, who are also my people, came to me and told me just how interested Mr. Marcone seemed in you as they were leaving. Mickey himself had little to do with it, of course. He’s good muscle, I’ll give him that, but I’m afraid he loses any brains he may have the moment a pretty face walks by.” His fingers finally removed themselves from my face and it was a pretty big fight not to snap at them.

                “Well, like I said, Marcone tricked me into thinking he was just a regular old businessman for the first couple of days I knew him. I told him to stay away from me when I found out the truth. And so I say again, I have no business with the mob. Why would you want me anyway?” It was at that point the younger man stepped closer to me and curled his hands tight into my hair. Maybe Murphy was right and I did need to get it cut because that hurt like hell.

                “We saw what you could do, Dresden, with the fire and shit.” Magic. They’d seen me do magic. Stars and Stones, I was stupid. I squirmed and the older man must’ve seen my discomfort because he hit his son’s hand hard enough that he dropped his grasp on my hair.

                “I apologize once more for my foolish son, although he speaks truthfully. A man with such... interesting talents is quite valuable. Will you show us your skills once more? I’d like to see them closely.” I shook my head.

                “Hey, I know I said I didn’t care who you were, but I’m getting sort of curious now.” He sighed.

                “A name for a trick, Mr. Dresden.” I let fire spark to my fingertips and burn the rope that held me, then moved my hands in front of me and wiggled them at the man. He smiled. “In front of me, Mr. Dresden, not behind your back.” I rolled my eyes and called it again, tiny dancing flames in my hand, and the air around us grew chilled. He smiled, a cool expression, and it didn’t reach his eyes.

                “Tony Vargassi,” he said, “And my son, Marco.” I levered myself up to my feet and tipped an imaginary hat.

                “Well, I’d call it a pleasure, but I arrived here in the trunk of a car, so I’d be lying. Now, I’ll tell you one last time before I go: I’m not after employment from you or anyone else in your profession. I’m going home.” I turned and left, and surprisingly enough, no one stopped me. That had to have been a first, but I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least not until I remembered who the Vargassi’s were and discovered that I was still an idiot.

                They used to be the top dogs, before Marcone came along and threw them down the ladder, but they hadn’t taken it lying down. There’d been story after story proclaiming that Marcone was attempting to throw them out of town, but they always managed to keep a power base just big enough to keep them in the city. They were Marcone’s biggest competitors in the business, and I’d very likely just pissed them off. I am a huge dumbass. However, as Murphy would say, at least I admit it. I managed to find a cab willing to take me back to my apartment after I got about a mile from the Vargassi property, and even had enough to pay him. My bed was warm and welcome when I got home. The new note from Mrs. S saying I’d missed another call from the man named Milano wasn’t. Either way, it was even easier to ignore that one than the other one because being kidnapped can really take a lot out of a guy, surprising though that seems.

* * *

 

                The peace didn’t last for long. Mrs. S came into my place early the next morning and dragged me upstairs, shoved the phone in my hand, and told me to talk to the damned man because she was tired of taking my calls.

                “Harry,” Marcone said, sounding strangely relieved.

                “Scumbag. I gave you this number so you’d leave me alone, not so you’d harass the manager of my boardinghouse.”

                “There would be no harassment if you’d pick up when someone calls for you.”

                “I’ve been out.”

                “Yes, getting drunk with your roommates, I realize.” He sounded upset about that, as if he had a right to.

                “I seem to remember someone else who had a few glasses too, and a nice looking lady licking his tonsils up. Did she make good on her check, Marcone?”

                “You’re misusing the expression,” he told me quietly, and I snorted.

                “Like I care. Stop calling here.” After which I hung up the phone and walked downstairs. It began to ring again immediately after and not even Mrs. S bothered to pick it up. Instead, I went back to my area and got dressed for another day at the office.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                I settled my phone back onto its receiver and gently rubbed my head; it was quite early but I already felt a headache manifesting itself rather insistently in the back of my skull. I was beginning to suspect that this was a common enough ailment for those people who could claim to know Harry Dresden. I allowed myself a sigh and saw Mr. Hendricks giving me a truly pitying gaze from the corner of my eye.

                “He’ll come around,” he told me, but I had a rather difficult time believing that. He hated me now, obviously, and was telling me so quite often. I didn’t reply in the affirmative or the negative, however. Instead I simply decided to lose myself in work. Doing so had served me perfectly well before.

                “I’ve a meeting soon, do I not? With Mr. Archleone?” Hendricks nodded.

                “I got a call that said he came in ten minutes ago. Figured you’d wanna try calling Dresden first.” I smiled; it was quite useful to have your right hand double as your nearest and dearest friend, on occasion.

                “Thank you. I believe I’m ready for him now.” He inclined his head once in easy agreement, left, and returned moments later with one of the most unremarkable men I’ve ever seen standing at his side. He was of average height and average weight, with nearly black hair and equally dark eyes. His clothes were clean, and of proper quality, but they didn’t reek of opulence by any means. There was something odd about him, however; possibly that he was so simply common and possibly that he wore a noose around his neck as if it were a tie. Still, my work has offered me contact with all sorts, so I felt it was likely best not to judge. I gestured at the chair and Mr. Hendricks had him sit before me.

                “Hello Mr. Marcone,” Archleone said, his voice just as common as the rest of him. It was so dull, so smooth, so lacking in any imperfections, that I felt almost as if I’d fall asleep if I listened to him too lengthily.

                “Mr. Archleone,” I said, “You mentioned that you had a deal you wished to discuss with me?” He laughed, and behind him I saw something truly strange; his shadow was moving. Not a natural sort of movement, either, not a sort of movement one could attribute to a change in light or a motion of the body. I watched it quiver and waver behind him and once more thought of Harry, of magic. I swallowed and pressed my best smile over my face. Perhaps this meeting would have been better done in a more public setting.

                “Ah, yes,” he said, “Right to the point. I’ve always liked that in a person, Mr. Marcone.” He reached into an inner pocket in his jacket, and when he opened his hand atop my desk, a silver coin glinted back at me. I’ve never felt such a… a call to so simple a thing before. None of my money, none of the women, nothing. I clenched my fists to avoid reaching out for it. Weakness was bad for business. I thought of Harry again, and Archleone’s mouth curled into a cruel smirk. He looked suddenly not so plain anymore.

                “What is this?” I asked. Harry had mentioned a coin when speaking to that man in the sewers. It had power to it, I could tell as much, power nothing like my own. I couldn’t help but stare at the damned thing. Hendricks looked a bit nervous where he stood by the door.

                “This will give you all that you desire, Mr. Marcone. There’s a person, isn’t there? A Wizard. This coin will give you the strength to take him. This coin will give you the power to fully control, to save, to clean, this city, to destroy the Vargassi’s once and for all. I will give it to you, Mr. Marcone, and all I want in return are your services when you have it.” Harry? How could a coin give me Harry? How could a coin give me the strength to truly contain Chicago’s darkness? It looked so cold. I wanted to touch it. I continued to ignore the urge.

                “It’s only a coin,” I said, “An old one, I’d imagine, but only a coin nonetheless.” He laughed.

                “You’ve met little Harry and call it but a coin? How strange. How long have you known him? Perhaps not long enough to know of magic’s true might.” I didn’t wish to answer. I’d known him in the context of speaking with him for only a few days, since the 1914, but as for knowing of him, his name, what he looked like… I’d known that for quite some time longer, a year, perhaps a year and a half. I’d saved him, once, from being shot, but my face had been covered and I’d done my best not to speak too much, so he didn’t recognize me then. I’d become interested in him, that day, because he’d stood up and the first thing he’d done was whisper comforting words to the little girl wrapped up in his coat, the little girl I hadn’t even noticed, and he hadn’t even been shaking. He’d thanked me graciously and he’d walked away and damn if I hadn’t been hooked. I’d put guys on him, learned his name and his skills and for all I’d heard about them the most amazing thing I’d ever seen was his fire at his fingertips when he stood right in front of me. Archleone kept smiling. “Longer than you’d like to say, eh? I suppose he has no idea how long you’ve _known_ him, correct? Still, you’ve not known him well enough to know of magic.”

                “I suppose not, at least no more than what I’ve seen.”

                “Ah. This coin will give you magic, Mr. Marcone, very powerful magic.” Magic. I’d have magic. Enough to keep my city safe, enough to keep Harry Dresden. My fingertips twitched towards it and then I pulled them away again. If he knew I wanted it, he’d ask for more. It was simply how business was done.

                “And what would you be asking me to do, were I to take this coin?” Another smile.

                “Simply work with me, Mr. Marcone, be my right hand in any of the business I undertake.” It was a good deal, something in me whispered, a beautiful deal. The shadow behind Archleone continued to writhe. My breath came in wet gasps, and then my office door crashed open and Michael, the man Harry had invited to come along with us days before, stepped inside. His sword was held out in front of him and seemed to hum. Mr. Archleone leapt to his feet.

                “Knight,” he hissed, and Michael smiled.

                “Nicodemus,” he murmured, “Which coin is that?” The man shrugged.

                “Does it truly matter?” Michael sighed, his voice a low grumble, and he held the sword out a bit more. I hardly spared a thought to how he’d gotten through my security; one look at him and they’d probably dropped their guns and ran. Archleone stood and I suddenly recalled that the man Harry had faced had said that Nicodemus wanted the Wizard badly. This man was a villain; the thought struck me suddenly and cleanly. Michael had probably just saved my life. I slid my own gun from my jacket and cocked it to the sound of Nicodemus’ laughter.

                “I suppose not. Come outside and fight me honorably, Nicodemus; that man knows nothing of you.” He cocked his head and his shadow reared up behind him, a true monster.

                “It is no fault of mine that he is ignorant. He wants the coin, can’t you see it? He’s hungry for it, for power. Power enough to have your dear, dear _friend,_ oh Knight. Where is he, by the way? He rarely misses a chance to taunt me, whether justified or not.” Michael set his mouth and fell into an easy fighting stance.

                “Resting, with Ms. Murphy.” Nicodemus laughed again.

                “Oh, yes, I can imagine how well they’re resting! Doesn’t it bother you so, Mr. Marcone? You could kill her,” he mumbled, and the shadow stretched over him, towards Michael, who cut at it with ease. Everything felt too calm, too silent, nothing like the fight with Cassius. This man and that other were vastly different creatures, as I was realizing. His words still tore at my mind like poisoned knives, jealousy brewing in my belly, just as it had almost since the day I saved that man’s life.

                “No,” I said, aiming the gun at his back. I wanted, desperately, to shoot him then, and Hendricks seemed to be having the same sort of urge.

                “That will not work,” Michael mumbled, lunged forward and did his best to bury the blade into Nicodemus’ stomach. The thing only laughed, dropped the silver coin on the ground, and ran out. Michael didn’t follow, and he told me to have my men stay behind as well. I stared at the glinting silver coin upon the rug and my fingers itched to grab it still. I bent to do just that, but Michael settled a hand hard on my shoulder to stop me. “Do not touch that, Mr. Marcone.” I stared at it, at the silver, at the pretty design wrought on it. I thought of the power it could bring me.

                “Why not?”

                “It is inhabited by one of the Fallen. There are twenty-nine others like it, some in the hands of the Church, most in the hands of Nicodemus himself. We try to get them from him, however, before he infects mortals such as yourself with them.”

                “We?” I asked quietly, and he wrapped his cloak around his hands to pick the coin up and tuck it away somewhere on his person.

                “The three Knights of the Cross. I am, obviously, not the only one, although I am currently the only one in the United States. Nicodemus is the leader of the Knights of the Blackened Denarius because of the symbiotic relationship he has developed with his Fallen, Anduriel. I believe he attempted to give you Namshiel, although I did not get the best of looks at the coin.”  

                “It would have killed me?” He shook his head.

                “Taken you over, by degrees. Faster or slower depending on how willing you were to have it happen. I wonder why he’d have given you that coin, however. I’d have guessed that he’d give you Ursiel, although that might be better suited to your man there. Still, it would have done only what he said it would, for a time, until the coin fully took you over. Nicodemus is a very rare case; he and his Fallen are equal. They share that body fairly, and work together as partners. Often there is more of a battle than a dependency, shown by the opening of a second set of eyes when the host turns to a form more appropriate for battle. Nicodemus does not change, although he has existed for thousands upon thousands of years.” In a sense, then, he’d just saved my life. I still felt something in me clawing for the coin, but I ignored it.

                “I thank you, then. I suppose I am in your debt, at least for a time.”

                “Certainly not.” Too good of a man, I supposed, to take advantage of me. It was idiotic and it made me laugh, a bit.

                “May I ask you something, then?”

                “Of course.”

                “Why does Nicodemus want Harry?” He smiled and patted my shoulder, clasped it, and helped me stand. I’d dived for the coin, I realized, and felt disgusted with myself.

                “Ever since their first encounter, Nicodemus has desired to take Harry under his wing, to give him a fallen. Harry has… very much magic. Incredible amounts of it, actually, and as such there are very many things in this world that desire for him to work for them, or desire for him to die. Nicodemus is one of the former. He wishes to give him Lasciel, and I suppose that is only fitting, but the more Harry has refused, the more desperate he has become. I suppose he planned to have you trap Harry somehow, and take it from there.” A tool. He’d wanted to make me a tool. I’d kill him myself, I decided, for making a fool out of me, for wanting to make me cause damage to that man. I never would. I tensed my jaw and took in another deep breath to calm myself.

                “And why would this Lasciel be so appropriate for him?” He gave me a small, almost enigmatic smile as he turned to leave.

                “She’s called the temptress,” he said, and then was gone. I moved back to my desk and dropped down behind it again. Hendricks swallowed and came to stand beside me.

                “Sorry I wasn’t much help,” he grumbled, and I waved him off.

                “It seems we’ve both got a bit of learning to do.”

                “Yeah,” he said, and we both allowed ourselves a short laugh before work continued as usual. Still, my thoughts were more consumed with Harry Dresden than any sane person’s should’ve been. Hendricks seemed to realize as much, but wisely didn’t mention it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pikers-can mean cheapskate or coward  
> Darb-person with money who’ll pay the bill  
> Pill-a teacher, someone boring or unlikable  
> Ossified-drunk  
> Dumb Dora-stupid female  
> Bird-someone odd or strange  
> Get a wiggle on-walk


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just remembered that in an earlier chapter I said I'd consider doing some alternate POV versions of some additional scenes. I know the first technical meeting in the bar was one of them, but if any others come up that someone wants to see, let me know. I can't promise when any of them will happen, but they'd give me a nice distracting side project to work on, if nothing else.

Harry’s POV

                I was once again settled on top of my desk, my legs crossed, when Michael walked into my office as if he owned the place. Which, I guess he sort of has at least a share in it, if you want to consider all the times he’s helped Murphy and I pay the rent on the space. That’s not important right now, though. What was important was the fact that his sword was out and his cloak was torn, and that usually meant that something had gone pretty terribly wrong. I jumped off the desk and went towards him, but he held a hand out for me to still. I’d sort of learned to listen to him when he did that.

                “Nicodemus is back in town,” he said, and I felt suddenly cold. I’d had my suspicions, but to actually hear that… it scared me, a little. I nodded.

                “You fought him?”

                “In a sense. He was playing with me.”

                “He always is. What’s he planning now?” He sighed.

                “I am unsure. He attempted to give Namshiel to Mr. Marcone,” he said, and I nodded because of course he had. Marcone was a crook, a powerful crook; why the hell wouldn’t Nicodemus give him a coin to give him more? He’d be a good resource.

                “We need to find him again, before he starts calling the other Denarians.”

                “You know as well as I that they are probably already here.” I did, and I told him so. “You are correct, however. We must find where he is hiding.”

                “Marcone didn’t get the coin, right?”

                “No. I have it with me. I will bring it to Father Forthill as soon as I leave here. I merely thought that you would want to begin your search.”

                “Yeah. Thanks, Michael.” He nodded and left, and I went into Murphy’s office. She gave me a vaguely worried look, but I waved her off. I’d tangled with Nicodemus before and come out of it okay. I mean, yeah, I’d been injured, obviously, but it wasn’t like he’d managed to kill me. He could have, though. Still, sometimes it’s a blessing when the bad guys want you on their side. Anyway. “I’m going to hit the streets, yeah? If Nicodemus is in town, most of my little guys are going to know it.”

                “And you’re also planning on talking to someone that isn’t such a little guy, and you don’t want me involved.” I laughed.

                “Would you believe me if I said I wasn’t?”

                “Probably not.”

                “Well, I promise I’ll avoid it if I can help it, but Nicodemus is on the Accords. I can’t go to the Council for help, which, I can’t really ever do that anyway, but it takes the option for any help from them whatsoever away. Plus I don’t really want to bring this to Mac, considering how dangerous the Nickelheads are.” She nodded.

                “I know. But unless you think your ‘contact’ is going to kill me on site, I don’t want you hiding things from me.” I sighed, but finally smiled.

                “Alright.” She grinned because it was another concession, it was another step for us, it was another patch on damage once done. I walked out too, out of the office, and headed towards a very particular alleyway. I didn’t find who I was looking for when I arrived there.

                Instead of a little Dewdrop fairy with a shock of violet hair, I saw a decidedly not little white haired woman with golden eyes and pupils like slits. Her clothes were in tatters, too, sparkling strips of fabric that only just barely made her decent, and she smirked because she knew she was beautiful. Of course, the primal fear kind of cut any reaction I might’ve had to her, to be honest. See, she wasn’t just your average pretty woman lurking in an alleyway, no; she was the Winter Lady, Maeve. The simple fact that she’d shown up here meant that I probably needed to be worried. She walked over to me, her hips swaying, her smile displaying sharp teeth, and I stepped backwards. She stopped me with hands on my shoulders. Her nails felt like icy needles, sharp enough to pierce my coat and my shirt. I could hardly breathe.

                “Harry,” she whispered, and I tensed my mouth and squirmed. She tightened her grip. “Oh, don’t run from me. You know you’d have me in a moment, without those silly mortal things you’re so quick to mention.” I managed to pull free from her.

                “Maybe, but I’d really rather not. What’re you doing here?”

                “I heard from mother that Nicodemus was giving you issue again. We thought that you’d perhaps like to know where he was, and what he was planning for you.” I shook my head.

                “I’m not stupid enough to think that either of you would do that for free.” She reached out and put my hands on her waist, pulled us hard together and pressed cool lips to my throat. I shuddered and she laughed. I tried to pull away again, but I felt as if I were bound where I stood. She ran her hands down my back and still I could feel the chill, the needle pricks, through my clothes.

                “No, not for free, but such a small price it’s hardly worth mentioning.”

                “I think maybe you should mention it.”

                “Such a strange mortal. Mother says she hasn’t met the likes of you in ages. But you wanted the price, didn’t you? I simply need an escort to a little party, Wizard, and I think you would serve quite well. I will tell you whatever you ask of me in regards to Nicodemus if you only do that for me.” A party. She wanted me to be her date to a party. Hell’s Bells, sometimes I wonder if my life is some sick joke for all the various cosmic whatevers or something.

                “What kind of party?”

                “My mother’s. She desires an extra measure of safety, and feels that you would be the best way to get it.” She couldn’t lie, at least I knew that. She couldn’t lie, but she could bend the truth all to hell. I dissected the statement and tried to come up with any way that this could come back and bite me in the ass, beyond the obvious. I couldn’t think of anything, although that probably didn’t actually mean anything.

                “Okay,” I finally said, because I needed the information and I couldn’t see many safer ways to get it and be certain of its accuracy and its completeness. “But only if you swear to me that neither you, your mother, nor your grandmother will make an attempt to make me the Winter Knight or otherwise bind me to Winter.”

                “I swear it, Harry Dresden. I swear it to thee. I swear it by your Wizard’s stars and by Winter’s honor.” I nodded.

                “Thrice said and so bound.” She laughed.

                “Let’s seal it with a kiss, Wizard.” I was shaking my head but her lips descended on mine anyway. I attempted a struggle again, but her arms were a vice around me and I couldn’t break free. It was at that point that a thick hand curled into my coat and yanked me backwards just hard enough to break her grip, and then bundled me into a car. Said car proceeded to rocket away at breakneck speeds that had me clutching the seat. It took me a moment to realize who had done this, and a moment longer to get my voice back enough to speak.

                “Damn it, Marcone, what the hell is this?” He sat beside me, and Hendricks, presumably the one who’d gotten me away from Maeve, was driving us. He didn’t bother to show me his fancy father’s smile again, or do anything more than turn just slightly and press me into the car door. The handle dug painfully into my back and he was making it really difficult to avoid looking into his eyes for too long. “Marcone! Don’t ignore me. And let me go.” He growled lowly, rumbling and sounding as if it were painful or something. The little car, actually not all that little, continued to speed down the road. I wondered where his little cherry thing was. It was probably only for personal use, and this was the business car. I did have to wonder where all the bullet holes were, in that case. Anyway.

                “Who is she?” he asked, and he sounded so… angry. I felt my heart pounding too hard in my chest.

                “Why does it matter?”

                “Because I’ve asked you to tell me.” I snorted.

                “What you want doesn’t matter to me.” He pulled me forward and then shoved me back, nearly made me crack my skull against the window.

                “Yes, I believe you’ve sufficiently proven as much, Harry. Still, I would like you to cooperate with me, just this once, and tell me who the hell that woman was.”  

                “One of the three Queens of the Winter Court.” He let go of me suddenly and slid away a little.

                “Anyone else, Dresden, and they wouldn’t be breathing if they tried to tell me that shit.” I snickered.

                “Yeah, well, I’m not lying. Her name’s Maeve. Her mom has a thing for me. I guess it carried over to the next generation. Anyway, she was giving me information, and she wanted a kiss in return, along with a date to a party.”

                “And I suppose you agreed?” I glared at him suddenly and he didn’t even flinch.

                “Yeah, well. I heard Nicodemus is back in town, giving coins to the local criminal sector. Luckily a Knight of the Cross is in the neighborhood, huh?”

                “I can promise you that I thanked him excessively and offered my debt.” I nodded and relaxed a little bit again, although not much. I didn’t trust this bastard; he didn’t deserve it.

                “Michael’s like that. I owe him pretty much everything, at this point, but he wouldn’t take anything I tried to give him. You want to tell me why you kidnapped me because you saw me kissing a girl? I mean, I promise I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m not hurting anyone’s feelings with this.”

                “He seems to be a good man,” he said lightly, and I rolled my eyes. He seemed to catch my drift because he answered my actual question after that. “And you weren’t giving me any other choice. I have called you numerous times, and sought you out otherwise, but you refuse to see or to speak to me. I felt that this was my only remaining option.”

                “Kidnapping me. Really? This has already happened once this week. Yesterday, as a matter of fact.” He froze again, his hands reaching out to clutch at me again. I tensed, but it didn’t seem to matter to him.

                “Who?” I shrugged.

                “How the hell should I know? People kidnap me all the time.” His eyes narrowed and then he was pressing me into the door again. I bit at my lip.

                “You know.” I rolled my eyes.

                “Tony Vargassi and his son. They saw me with you, and then with that asshole Mickey who apparently works with them, so they kidnapped me because they want me to work for them or something like that. I have no idea.” He tightened his grip and seemed to want to shake me again.

                “Are you still well?”

                “They didn’t rough me up, if that’s what you mean. They just let me go. They’re probably pissed, considering I told them about that one time I messed up a mob deal, but hey, what can I do? I’ve got bigger problems at the moment, problems that would be way easier to deal with if you let me go, by the way.”

                “Tell me what party you’ll be going to.”

                “Considering you had me pulled into this car, I don’t even know what day it is. All I know is that Queen Mab’s hosting it.” His hands were so tight in my coat that I feared he really would tear it. I glared hard at him. He pulled me nearer to him. I tried to pull away but he still refused to let me.

                “I will figure it out, you know. I will be there. You are mine, Harry, whether you admit it to yourself or not.”

                “Fuck off. I belong to me,” I snapped at him, and he took me by the wrist, stared into my eyes, and I was too annoyed to look away fast enough. I got pulled into his soul before I could do anything to stop it.

* * *

 

                It was white. Everything was white, and clean, and cold. It was so white I almost thought I was going to go blind for it. And then I saw it, the one dark patch in that far corner. I stepped towards it and felt him push me back for my presumption. I’d never seen a soul so clean, though, so controlled, so perfectly neat. He was hiding everything; his brain was made of folders and tick marks. It reminded me, a little, of a tiger. I touched a wall and felt it shake warmly, and shortly after I was removed from the place. I was honestly unsettled, but he had this weird look on his face, calculating and almost… hungry.

                “May I ask what that was?” he questioned, and I shrugged.

                “My soul. I saw yours too. It’s called a Soul Gaze; it happens whenever a Wizard looks someone in the eyes for too long. I can only do it with the same person once, though. That’s why I was trying not to look you in the eye too much, but you kept making me.”

                “I can’t say I’m particularly chastised. It was very… enlightening.” I looked away from him even though I had no idea what he’d seen. I couldn’t imagine that it had been good, to be honest. Not with… not with my past, not with all I’d done.

                “Shut up, bastard. Let me out.”

                “I’ll drop you off at your office, if you’ll tell me where it is.”

                “You’re such a dick. Fine,” I said, and then I spouted off the address. He directed Hendricks to go there, and then settled a hand on my thigh. I picked it up and dropped it onto his lap. He laughed, and somehow managed to keep a hand still on my person. I glared at him, still, and it had just as little effect as ever.

                “Thank you, Harry.” I reached out and knocked the hat off his head because the damn thing was starting to piss me off as much as Murphy. He raised his eyebrow. “You mustn’t be so childish, you know.”

                “Scumbag.”

                “And petty insults are quite above you.”

                “Nah. They’re right on my level.” He touched my face.

                “Why do you hate me so much now, Harry? You once liked me.”

                “For, like, three days. That doesn’t mean we have some kind of rapport. I only just met you not even a week ago. And I hate you because you lied to me, and because your ‘business’ means that you hurt people, a lot of people, and many of them people that I know and care about.”

                “I hurt only people who deserve it, Harry. No one else.”

                “Your idea of ‘deserving it’ and mine are different.” He stared into my eyes again, I assume because he could now.

                “Not so different.”

                “Different enough.” We pulled up to my office and I climbed out. He grabbed my arm and pulled my upper body back into the car.

                “Cash or check, sweetheart?” I thought for a moment, trying to remember what it was Murphy always said.

                “Bank’s closed, scumbag.” I jerked my arm free and stomped up to the office, wondering if he’d asked me that to make fun of me somehow, some high class joke that I just wouldn’t ever understand. Murphy didn’t even bother to ask, and we spent the rest of the day catching up on all the paperwork that the last case had incurred. Also, no, I have no idea how I can get so much paperwork on a case where pretty much only supernatural entities were involved. And, hey, Murphy even let me help since she was there and therefore able to keep me on track and keep all liquids very far away from me. Anyway, after that, I went home and went to bed. For once, I didn’t have any notes telling me I’d missed a call. Probably because the scumbag had sufficiently harassed me in the car that day.

* * *

 

                I had only just managed to make myself some toast (just toast, mind. I’m not fancy enough to have anything silly like jelly or butter or flavor) when I heard someone knock knock knocking at my chamber door. I don’t know why I expected anyone other than Maeve to be on the other side. Really, it was an absolutely ridiculous notion that I would have any visitor other than a psychotic fairy.

                I opened the door to her and she was piled in my arms immediately, her dress shimmering in shades of silver and gold under the early afternoon sunlight, her white hair equally brilliant. I pulled away from her as if she were burning me. She pouted and I saw a flash of annoyance in her eyes. Dangerous. It wouldn’t do for me to upset her too much, during this, much though that contradicted my usual modus operandi.

                “Hello, Maeve. Time for the party already?” She laughed, sharp and almost tinny.

                “Of course. I was a bit late in getting myself a date, I’m afraid. Carelessness on my part, luckiness on yours, all that. But ah, those rags will never do! We simply must dress you up.” She snapped her fingers and with hardly a tingle I found myself in a slick black suit. Her eyes flashed at the blatant display of her own power, and I realized very suddenly how much of a child she was, how immature. I wondered for how long she’d had her place as the Winter Lady. I couldn’t imagine that it had been too awful long. I held out my arm to her and she took it with little more than a curl of her lips, and then we were stepping through a portal and into the Nevernever, Winter specifically. The first thing I noticed was that the cold was biting. The second thing I noticed was that everyone there was staring at Maeve and myself. Hell’s Bells, this was off to a great start. Still, there was nothing I could do about it now, so I gritted my teeth and put on my most political smile. It wasn’t like I could do anything else.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                Mr. Vadderung had never been an easy man to get in touch with, for many reasons, but he’d always been a good asset to my business. I’d met him shortly after my first encounter with Harry, the day I’d saved him, the day I’d learned of magic. He’d been my first true tie to that world, the first real source of information I had on it. He’d also been the first person to give me access to a user of magic, a woman named Ms. Gard, and now I was quite certain that I’d need her talents again. I gave the operator his number again and he finally picked up.

                “Mr. Marcone,” he said, knowing my identity in that preternatural way he has, “To what do I owe the pleasure?” There was something European in his voice, something ancient that I could never quite identify. One day I would certainly need to discover who this man truly was, his identity beyond a man who sold ‘security’.

                “I have heard that there will soon be a party hosted by someone named Queen Mab. I would like to attend.” The line was silent for a moment, but Mr. Vadderung spoke again quickly enough.

                “Yes, there is a party taking place today. In an hour, as a matter of fact. It is only for those who have some sort of connection to the Accords, however, and I am afraid that you do not. Of course, I do, and I could very easily send Ms. Gard as my representative and you as her guest, although I’d like to know what reason you have for attending.” I tapped my fingers against my leg, careful to be silent. Mr. Vadderung was a fair man, I knew as much, but he was certainly not beyond taking a bit of advantage when someone wanted something badly enough. I’d learned that quite well during my encounters with him.

                “Someone I know is attending, with someone named Maeve as his date. I fear for his safety, and so would like to attend myself in order to look after him.” Vadderung laughed, boisterous and relaxed. He probably hadn’t even planned on attending the damned party.

                “Maeve, eh? I must admit he’s got poor taste in women. The Winter Lady has been known to chew her dates up quite thoroughly; your concern is most definitely valid. I shall send Ms. Gard to your home immediately, and so please do attempt to be dressed appropriately by the time she arrived. As formal as you can manage.” He hung up, and so I did too, glancing down at myself at the same time. I was dressed well, of course, but not in what I’d call party wear, and so I went back to my room and changed from pinstripe to black silk because I liked the shine and the feel. Hendricks came and informed me that Gard was at the door about ten minutes after, and I went down and greeted her politely.

                She was a tall woman, with brilliantly blonde hair and relatively pale skin, along with a set of unusually bright blue eyes. I’d always suspected that she wasn’t quite as human as she made herself out to be, but she didn’t offer the information and I didn’t dare ask. Today, instead of her usual simple, nondescript clothing, she wore brilliant, glittering red. Hendricks was staring at her with undisguised admiration, and I could hardly hide my smile; he’d had something of a crush on her the moment they met. Gard offered him a pale smile, her eyes something close to teasing, and I knew that she knew of the crush as well as I. I also knew that she wasn’t entirely averse to it. Mr. Hendricks would never realize that without a bit of help, however, and Ms. Gard was obviously having far too much fun to offer that help.

                “Are we leaving?” I asked her, and she gave me an appraising look, as if making certain that I was appropriately dressed. She seemed to be satisfied, however.

                “I suppose. Come, it’s quite rude to arrive late to one of Queen Mab’s parties, and I do not think that offending her is your current goal.” I agreed, and we walked for some way before she stopped and whispered a word. With the word, a rune flashed in the air and a hole appeared before me. On the other side of it, I saw a ballroom already full of people and creatures I could hardly imagine in my wildest dreams or nightmares. Gard gave me a push and sent me through the hole before she stepped in after me and sealed it behind her.

                “This is the Nevernever; it is the world in which magical denizens such as the Sidhe live, and it connected to your world. Do not take anything offered to you whilst here, from anyone, and make no deals. As a matter of fact, don’t speak to anyone, if it’s avoidable. Come, we must tell Queen Mab hello.” She gestured to the back of the room, where two thrones sat, both of them occupied.

                In the larger sat the palest woman I’ve ever seen, one with neat white hair and painfully golden eyes. Her face was unnaturally beautiful, strange for its lack of flaws, for its perfect symmetry, and she wore a full blue dress that flowed on her form as if it were a part of her. Beside her sat the woman I’d seen Harry kiss, and now that I looked at the two of them side by side, I could see something like a familial similarity. They were both pale, with white hair and gold eyes, and they were both very beautiful, but in the younger I saw something a bit uncontrolled, something young and rebellious. Harry leaned against the wall beside her, his arms crossed over his chest and looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else. His suit was fine and fit him well, but I could tell from here that it was not the one I’d bought for him. He looked cold, but that was understandable; a strange chill was filling the room, one that should not have existed with all the fires that burned.

                Gard led me towards the thrones with a hand on my arm, and I took a moment to look around. A band played a lively tune in one corner, one that sounded familiar but that I couldn’t name, and despite the speed of their hands, their faces were dead tired, their bodies were limp. The dance floor was full of things that looked human and things that didn’t, all of them moving with far too much grace, too much poise. Tables of food lined another wall, and another place was devoted to seating. We reached the thrones and Gard had me kneel, but not before I caught sight of Harry’s dumbfounded expression. I couldn’t hide the smile on my face, the pleasure that such a thing brought me.

                “Sigrun,” the woman on the large throne purred, “So sad that your employer couldn’t make it. I see you’ve brought a guest, however. May I ask who?”

                “John Marcone,” she said, “A mortal ruler of a city in the United States.”

                “Fascinating. Harry, sweet, you looked shocked at the sight of him. Do you perhaps know him?” She cocked her head innocently, but I heard something sharp in the way she spoke. Harry cleared his throat and settled his arms at his side instead of across his chest.

                “Yeah, I do. Not very well, though. We’ve only met a few times. It just surprised me to see another mortal here, beyond the band and the… yeah.” Maeve laughed.

                “Oh, Harry! He’s the one that took you away the other day! I’d never forget such a face!” She giggled and stood, her hand reaching out to clutch at Harry’s. I gritted my teeth and she turned to me and smiled the sweetest, most false smile I’d ever seen. Mab looked a bit put out as well.

                “Sit, Maeve. You may go where you will when all the guests have arrived, but not before.” She sighed and sat again, crossed her legs and displayed her flesh. Harry stepped back again.           

                “You’re only jealous that I got him first, mother.” She sighed.

                “Do not be so rude in front of our guests. We will discuss this foolishness later.” Maeve only laughed again.

                “Please, Sigrun, Mr. Marcone, go and enjoy the party. I’m waiting for but one more set of guests,” she said, and Gard led me away from the thrones even though I tried to stay.

                “He is the one you mentioned to my employer?” I nodded. “Fool of a mortal. Still yet, I will help you keep a watch on him. Come, to the tables. We will have good sight there.” I followed her where she led, and found that, yes, it was a wonderful spot; I could see and hear everything that went on by the thrones. I smiled to her gratefully and she proceeded to ignore me. I expected little else.

* * *

 

                Not much time passed before I saw three beings walk up to the thrones, two women and one man, two beautiful and one decayed. The first woman had long, dark, curled hair, and I recognized her as the operator of one of my less legal establishments relating to the pleasures of the flesh. Her name was Bianca, and I’d had no idea that she was supernaturally inclined. I supposed I’d need to start doing more thorough checks on my employees, once I returned to my offices.

                The second woman was far less beautiful than Bianca; not beautiful at all, in fact. Her flesh looked as if it were rotting, gray and cracked about her bones, and her hair was white and nearly nonexistent. She licked at her lips and I saw sharp teeth pricking them, drawing blackened blood. My first thought was vampire and it took me a moment to reconcile that I wasn’t as insane for thinking that as I should’ve been.

                The third person, the man, was just as lovely as Bianca. He was tall, about my height, with dark, wavy hair and pale eyes. His walk was easy, and he exuded sexuality. Harry was staring at him; everyone was, really, but it was Harry’s gaze that drew my attention and my ire. Gard settled a hand on my arm again although she wasn’t looking at me.

                “Calm yourself,” she murmured, “It is only natural. He is Raith; there is none who would not succumb to his charms, should he want them to.” I cracked a smile.

                “Even yourself, Ms. Gard?”

                “None mortal,” she amended herself, and I laughed a bit, but the scene playing out before me was far too interesting to bother with much humor. Bianca seemed to have elected herself speaker, because she led the trio up to the thrones and was the first to bow. Mab gestured quickly for them to stand, and they did.

                “Queen Mab, Lady Maeve,” she said, her voice smooth, “And my darling Harry! Ah, it’s been so long! Won’t you come by for a visit soon?” she purred, and Harry didn’t speak. “Poor sport. Queen Mab, I am certain you know that we have been here for some time, but it has only just become prudent for us to come and greet you. We have each borne gifts from our own Courts, of course, and sincerely hope that they make up for any disrespect.” Mab laughed.

                “I am certain they shall, Lady Bianca of the Red Court.” She smiled.

                “My Court humbly offers this wine, sweet with our poison.” Mab took it graciously, a cool smile on her face.

                “A wonderful gift, to be sure. Enjoy thou self, my Lady Bianca.” She inclined her head once more, and turned, although she didn’t leave entirely. The other woman stepped forward next.

                “The Black Court offers thee our finest of blades,” she husked, and held out a silvery sword that glistened with gemstones. Mab took it cautiously, seeming to expect something, but when nothing happened, she smiled pleasantly.

                “Equally fine, my Lady Mavra. Please, do enjoy thou self.” She turned and truly did leave, leaving the man alone. He walked forward cautiously, and held out a small bag.

                “The White Court offers thee gold, my Queen Mab, as well as your choice of my father’s Thralls.” She took the bag and nodded.

                “I thank thee, Sir Thomas of the Clan of Raith of the White Court. I shall summon your father swiftly with my choice.” He turned his eyes quickly to Harry, and seemed to be itching to touch something beneath his shirt. Harry just looked confused, oddly innocent for a man of his stature and strength. The man, Thomas, whipped around quickly and lost himself amongst the surging crowd as Mavra had. Bianca took the opportunity to step back up to the thrones and hold her hand out towards Harry.

                “Shall we dance, Harry, or will your date be displeased?”

                “I’d really rather not fear knives in my back at this particular moment, Bianca.” She laughed.

                “Harry, darling, I wouldn’t dare hurt you in Queen Mab’s domain.”

                “If you got me to attack first, then you’d have the right.”

                “Then simply don’t attack, yes? Just one dance.” He rolled his eyes.

                “It’s rude to dance with someone who isn’t your date.” Something sadistic appeared on Maeve’s pretty little face.

                “Not if your date gives permission. Go, little Wizard. I wish to watch.” Harry looked incredibly uncomfortable, but it seemed that his back had been forced against a wall, and so he took Bianca’s hand and let himself be led out onto the floor.

                They danced like the creatures danced, graceful yet wild, seeming perfectly matched to each other despite how frightened Harry seemed. I couldn’t believe how much I wanted to leap up and snatch him away from her touch, but it would have been inappropriate, and Gard held me fast anyway. The dance ended quickly enough, though, and Bianca allowed Harry to go free. A certain type of fear was painting his face when he returned, and I couldn’t imagine its source. I did, however, see a few thin holes in his clothing, around his shoulders and his hips, from which thin rivulets of blood leaked. Neither Maeve nor Mab seemed to care, although they both certainly noticed. Everything seemed to relax for about a half hour, and then two more people arrived with something of a bang.

                I recognized one of them, Nicodemus Archleone, but the strange woman with him, a girl with sharp looking, metal-like hair, was unfamiliar to me. She hung on his arm, though, and they walked as if they belonged together towards the thrones. Harry tensed and looked as if he were trying to cover the places where he’d bled. Nicodemus and the girl bowed, and Mab inclined her head.

                “Always a pleasure, Nicodemus,” she told him, and he laughed.

                “A pleasure indeed. You’ve met my daughter, Deirdre, have you not?” She nodded.

                “I have indeed. Lovely as always, the both of you.” He smiled, as did she, and they turned their attention to Maeve.

                “Maeve, sweet, you look beautiful.” She smirked.

                “Would you like a new daughter for an eve, then? Your power would be welcome, as I’m sure my innocent date will stop with a mere kiss,” she said, jerking Harry’s wrist hard enough that he stumbled into her side. Nicodemus laughed.

                “No, no, I could never. He reached out and pressed a finger under Harry’s chin. He looked disgusted and I felt oddly proud.

                “Maggie’s youngest, how are you? It’s been so long since last we met. You and your woman, your Knight, healed well, I trust?” Harry snapped at his fingers, animalistic and somewhat fearful.

                “Don’t touch me.” Nicodemus wagged a finger and smirked, his shadow stretching pleasantly behind him.

                “You really must learn to hold your tongue, Harry. This is a party, after all. Who’s to say what our host will do to you if you misbehave?”

                “Fuck off,” he growled, and Deirdre pressed a hand over her mouth.

                “Father, how could he dare be so rude?” Maeve was growling, pulling and tugging at Harry as if to make him go silent and still, but he was having none of it.

                “The same way you could dare to nearly gore my best friend to death, you psychotic bitch!” I’d never heard him so angry, never, not even when he was screaming at me. The music stopped and all the dancers stilled. Maeve threw him down onto his knees and held him there even as he struggled. Deirdre laughed and Nicodemus offered a cool smile.

                “Queen Mab, you should teach your daughter to keep a better reign on her pets.” Mab nodded.

                “So it seems. Wizard, apologize to Nicodemus and Deirdre immediately, else I shall be forced to offer you punishment of my own.”

                “I would never apologize to that fuck. He’s nearly killed me and my friends more time than I can count, and he’s trying to do the same damned thing now, albeit in a really roundabout way. Well, I’m not just going to roll over and show you my belly, asshole. I’m going to kill you,” he snarled, and then Mab clenched her hand into a fist. Harry fell abruptly silent, and his eyes went wide.

                “There, I’ve muzzled him for a time. Will you accept my apologies on his behalf?” Nicodemus nodded, somehow managing to look kind while he did it.

                “How could I not? Wonderful party as always, my Queen,” he said, and he and the girl turned and left. The music began again and everything began to proceed as before once more. Harry stayed on his knees, though, mouth closed but eyes defiant, for another twenty minutes, and then Mab opened her fist and allowed him to speak again.

                “Foolish mortal thing,” she hissed, “You’d best be glad I do not want blood spilled upon my floor.”

                “Whatever,” he grumbled, and Maeve was quick to take his wrist and lead him onto the dance floor. She kept him there for far longer than Bianca had, her body writhing, smooth and snake-like, against his, seeming as if she wished to morph them together. She kept him there until his movements became tired and slow, until his eyes were drooping, and seemed to want to keep him there for longer, her mouth pressing hard, bruising kisses to his throat, her hands caressing him and  having his do the same, until I finally could not take it anymore. I leapt up before Gard could stop me and grabbed him hard, managing to pull him free simply by virtue of the fact that she was surprised that I’d be so bold. Gard chased after me and tore a hole into the mortal world quickly, one through which I tossed Harry and myself, and she closed it behind us the moment she stepped through. Blessedly, it silenced the yelling that had broken out as soon as I’d done what I had. Harry gaped at me, too shocked to even protest at me, and I took advantage of it as I led him off, back towards my home.

* * *

 

Harry’s POV

                I’m not sure, but I think Marcone just kidnapped me from Queen Mab’s party. It’s really hard to be certain about something that damn stupid, though. I’m sure you understand, if you’ve ever partaken in the experience of being kidnapped from a fairy party by a notorious mobster and his Amazonian date oh Hell’s Bells it sounds even dumber now.

                “Marcone, should I even bother asking anymore or should I just start marking out a few hours every week to account for kidnapping?” I felt the need to add that I was way too old to get kidnapped so often, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate it too much, so I didn’t. See, I was really working super hard to display my self-control more often. He pulled me into a gigantic house, into a gigantic room, and then shoved me onto a couch hard enough that my legs flailed out and I was reminded one more time (as if I needed said reminder) that he was dangerous. He paced around in front of me as if he was expecting me to say something else, but I didn’t. The blonde stood by the door with her arms crossed, her eyes tracing the room almost suspiciously.

                “Ms. Gard?” he finally asked.

                “I do not sense that anyone has followed us, surprising though that be. I suppose they found it amusing.” His breath all fell from him in one giant huff, and he nodded.

                “Thank you, Ms. Gard. Would you mind asking Mr. Hendricks to bring the car around? I’d quite like a drink. Come, Harry.” He held a hand out to me and I just stared at it. He crooked his fingers as if he thought I simply hadn’t understood what he wanted me to do.

                “Is someone going to explain what the hell just happened?” The woman, Gard, cocked her head.

                “I believe that Mr. Marcone just pilfered you, Maeve’s date, and is somehow managing to live to speak of it.” I rolled my eyes.

                “I knew that already; also, if I had to guess I’d say that Maeve is pissed but Mab was annoyed with her and probably found it really hilarious, so she ordered that no one come after me. What I was really trying to ask, I guess, is why in hell Marcone kidnapped me.” Gard looked as if she were about to answer me, but Marcone gave her a sharp look and she closed her mouth.

                “The car, Ms. Gard.” She turned and left. “As for my reasoning, Harry, I was simply worried over you. You seemed to have quite a few enemies there today.” I heaved the most world weary sigh I could manage and did my best to appear disappointed in him.

                “I’m leaving.” He nodded, a faint smile obvious on his face.

                “Quite. There’s a lovely club a few blocks away. I believe we could both use it, at this point.” It was at this point that I seriously considered opening a portal to the Nevernever and heading through, hell to where I’d end up, but he grabbed me and dragged me outside before I could manage it and got me into his black car again. “I’ll treat you, of course, and escort you home afterwards. I’ll expect nothing of you, not even conversation.” I settled a little, though not much, and finally decided that I could use a beer too.

                “One drink,” I told him, “And then I’m going whether you are or not.” He looked like the man from the 1914 again, a wide, wild smile on his face, entirely human. He settled a hand on my knee and I wriggled away from the touch. He moved it to my belly, right over an old, pale, fading scar, and I gazed at him suspiciously. He offered another smile, this one tight and almost secret, as if he knew something, and maybe he did. Maybe he’d seen it in my soul. I picked up his hand and returned it to him because it had obviously lost it.

                “Such a strange man,” he murmured, and Hendricks turned the car sharply twice, until we pulled into a neat little parking lot. I could hear music from even inside the car, thrumming and low, the new style, Jazz, that everyone seemed to love and that I just found tolerable. Marc one looked suddenly excited as he took me by my hand (and wasn’t that strange? Hardly no one ever touched my hands) and dragged me stumblingly inside.

                Everything was a little bit of a blur as we were led to the table, a blur of noise and glittering, flouncy dresses and noise and people, and I felt suddenly far too large, too awkward, to be in such a loose, easy place. Marcone pulled out my chair for me and I suddenly understood why that could sometimes offend Murphy, but I sat without complaint and ordered a drink from the casually dressed waiter who had led us to the table. He scribbled it down in some kind of shorthand and then Marcone and Hendricks asked for coffee. Marcone asked for milk in his and I tried to warn him that that wouldn’t be such a great idea with me at the table, but he either didn’t hear or just thought I was being an asshole. Oh well. Wasn’t my problem if he didn’t pay attention to me.

                The band were a lively bunch that bounced and hopped around on the small, shadowy stage as they played, and periodically they’d stop for a drink or to give recognition whatever particularly pretty girl happened to be dancing in front of them at the time. People here hardly seemed to care about being caught drinking or drunk; they downed drinks in obvious containers and swayed and slurred and laughed and drank some more. It certainly wasn’t my sort of place, and I kind of curled into the soft chair where I sat. I managed to calm down a little when I thought about the sheer number of prayers Michael would send up for me if he knew I was anywhere near a place like this. The waiter returned with an old, wavering silvered tray, sat our drinks down, and left again. I attempted to distance myself from the milk-filled coffee, but obviously I didn’t go far enough because when Marcone took a sip, he cringed and spat it back into the cup.

                “The hell?” he sputtered, and for the first time I caught Chicago in his voice, likely a tiny remnant from his youth before he became the Gentleman. I laughed a little.

                “Sorry,” I managed between chuckles, “I did try to tell you not to order it with milk. It’s a Wizard think, sort of a fool-proof way to identify us; we curdle milk.” Hendricks was covering his mouth to hide a smile. I know that because said hand did nothing to cover up the laughing.

                “I haven’t heard you sound like that in years, Boss,” he said, and Marcone sighed, smiled.

                “I suppose Harry brings out the punk kid in me.” He sat the now-ruined coffee aside and snatched my drink, a nice cold Coca-Cola, before I could stop him. He took a long pull from the glass and returned it, laughter in his eyes but not on his mouth. “Payback,” he told me, and I might’ve pouted a little. Probably not, though, because I’m an adult and very mature and all that shit. Anyway.

                We sat there for a while, and I discovered that I was lying when I told him, “one drink and I’m gone”. The music stayed loud and the people stayed wild and Marcone seemed intent on making me get up and dance with him (I assume so he could stab me and make it look like someone in the insane crowd did it. That’s a crime lord thing to do, right?) but I didn’t have nearly enough alcohol in me to do something that frankly idiotic. Still, a familiar face appeared during one of these bouts of him cajoling me and me refusing and calling him a bastard, although said face wasn’t exactly welcome because said face had ordered me kidnapped not long ago and I tended to frown upon that. Said face’s body then seemed to decide that sitting at our table was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. I guess at this point I should clarify that the face I’m discussing was the face of Vargassi the Old One.  

                “Mr. Marcone!” he shouted to be heard over the party going on around us, “So nice to see you! It’s been so very long, has it not?” I watched Marcone go cold and blank like never before and suddenly knew that although I’d seen him when he disliked someone, I’d never seen him with someone he _hated_ until now.

                “Not quite long enough, I’m afraid. May I ask why you’re here?” Vargassi continued to smile, and then he reached out to touch my cheek. I jerked back just a little from the suddenness of it, and Marcone got this look on his face, one I couldn’t identify.

                “Oh, I simply saw a friendly face, wanted to say hello. Have you thought about my offer, Mr. Dresden? I can promise that I’d pay well.” I was about to tell him just where he could shove his offers and his money, but apparently Marcone had decided that I’d gone mute and was therefore incapable of talking to him on my own.

                “Poaching is quite rude, Mr. Vargassi. True gentlemen generally avoid it.”

                “You are the only gentleman I see here, Mr. Marcone. I’ve seen something I want, and I plan to have it.” Oh, hell no. I was not going to sit there and listen to either of those sons of bitches talk about me like property. I tried to speak up once more, and once more Marcone cut me off. I’m pretty sure that Hendricks was the only one who noticed because he was trying to get Marcone to stop and to calm down too, to get him to let me speak for myself.

                “I will not give him up or give up on him, Mr. Vargassi, and I must suggest that you do the opposite. He is mine, and you know that I do not take well to those messing with those that I call my own.” The two of them were throwing the Mr. around like the bitterest of insults, and while I normally would have found that absolutely hilarious, I was too annoyed to watch the show because it was me that they were talking about. I hadn’t belonged to anyone for a long damned time, not since I was a teenager. I’d been my own man since I’d come here. I planned on staying that way. I pushed myself away from the table and stood, which finally drew them out of there bickering. Hendricks looked really smug, as if he’d known that this would happen from the start. Marcone aimed a sharp look at me and gently took my wrist in a way that I knew could turn not-gentle in a split second if he wanted it to.

                “Let me go, Marcone. I’m leaving. I stayed for longer than I should have anyway. Hell, Maeve is going to need to be able to find me, and that’s going to be easiest if I’m in my apartment.”

                “An hour more, Harry, and I and Mr. Hendricks will drive you home ourselves.” I pulled my wrist and he let go of it accommodatingly. That honestly shocked me enough that I stood still for too long and Vargassi attempted to make his grandiose offer.

                “I will drive you home now, if you’d like to go,” he said, “And we can discuss your contract on the way.” I didn’t even grace that with a response; instead, I turned and walked my ass out the door into the silence of the street. I heard Marcone and Vargassi talking in almost-yells as I left, and I was pretty sure they were going to follow me, but I have long legs, so I was able to get far enough ahead and duck into an alley before they could catch up and see me. I got home pretty late that night, but Mrs. S told me that no one had come by for a visit and no one had called, so I assumed I was okay. I went to bed full of tension, but surprisingly enough I slept well. I assumed it was the satisfaction of seeing such an annoyed, human look on Marcone’s face that day.


	6. Chapter 6

                Even though you probably think this is a lie, it isn't often that people actually have to wake me up. No, normally I can wake up and start my day perfectly well on my own, and the next morning I would have been able to do it, too, but on that particular morning, Maeve called, so Mrs. S came and woke me instead, a touch of anger on her face, and I could understand that considering that the sun had hardly come up. Anyway, I ended up stumbling out of bed and answered the phone in my underwear, all of the early risers in the upstairs part staring at the ridiculous sight I had to make. 

                "'Lo?" I managed, and Maeve laughed. 

                "You had quite the interesting exit yesterday, sweet. I might start feeling offended, if you found my company so poor." 

                "I wasn't the one that dragged me out of the party, and you never told me where in the Nevernever we were, so I couldn't get back," I told her, and she sighed. 

                "Yes, yes. I simply must speak with that human one day; he ruined my mother's party! Everyone was absolutely out of control once you left! Still yet, I must keep my promise, as your leaving was not your choice. You may find Signatory Nicodemus in a temporary home in the outskirts of your city." She then proceeded to spout of the exact address, and I thanked her. "Oh, sweet, I know plenty of better ways you could show me your gratitude. My mother does as well." 

                "I'm never going to be your Knight, Maeve." I could see the smile curling her raspberry lips. 

                "I have heard that you humans should not say never." I snorted. 

                "Well, I'm a weird human. I'm not working for you." She laughed, high and sweet and young. She was the epitome of youth, I realized, of rebellion. I was simply lucky I hadn't come across her in my younger years, I knew, because if I did... if I did, I might've taken her offers. I probably would have.

                "We'll see, darling." She hung up after that, and I went back down to my bedroom and dressed. After that, I sat for a while, Mouse's head on my leg and Mister staring at me from the bookshelf. I sat there, and I thought. I couldn't... I knew where Nicodemus was, but I couldn't tell anyone. Not after all that had happened the last time my friends and I had faced him. Murphy had nearly died; she'd been in the hospital for over a week as it was because Miss Bad Hair Day had gored her through the stomach. Michael hadn't been much better off, considering he'd broken both his legs and hadn't been able to walk for months. I wasn't putting them in that situation again; I didn't care what they'd tell me later.

                I could handle it myself, keep them safe. I had to keep them safe. I'd promised. I wouldn't break that promise anymore. I took a deep breath and stood, took a deep breath and gathered my things. My duster settled like an old friend over my shoulders, the leather smooth and supple with use, and my blasting rod thumped comfortingly against my wrist. Mouse watched me worriedly as I stuffed my pockets full of stuff that would hopefully serve to get me out of any tight spots I found myself in, and as I slid all my force rings on my fingers and jangled my shield bracelet to make sure that it was loose and ready for use. The dog, I knew, was smart enough to realize that something was going on, that I was going into a tough fight. I scratched his head with my free hand as I took up my staff, and then walked out of my door. 

                I caught a cab and had the driver, who was very confused and more than a little annoyed by my six-foot staff, drop me off a half mile from Nicodemus' current residence because I didn't want a vanilla mortal to come too close to what was about to happen. I walked slowly to get there, so I could conserve as much energy as I could. I then proceeded to kick his front door down and barge in, because I’m subtle like that. 

                I feel like doing that would've worked way better if an ambush hadn't been waiting on me on the other side. As it was, I was immediately slammed to the ground by something heavy and covered with fur, and icy fingers ripped away my weapons. I managed to buck the thing off my stomach where it had landed, and tried to cast without my foci, but the shots went wide and the ones that hit were glancing. Everything was going by in a blur and then my arms were pinioned to my sides and even as I thrashed I tried to cast. It didn't work; I couldn't gather enough focus. Nicodemus' face appeared in front of mine, a smile peeling back his lips, and Deirdre held his arm, her metal hair whipping wildly around her face. 

                "Can I kill him?" she asked, and Nicodemus gently touched her face. She leaned into the touch, her eyes hooded, and she seemed to take that as an okay, but it wasn't because Nicodemus held her back when she went for me. 

                "No. He is too valuable. Where, I wonder, are your little friends?" 

                "You can't have them," I said, and he didn't smile. I think that might've unnerved me the most. 

                "I'll have what I desire, Maggie's youngest. For now, however, they are beyond my scope of concern. First, I'll have you." I was about to smart-ass at him, but it's sort of hard to do that when you're unconscious. As I went out, I found myself cursing them for not playing fair, and then I cursed myself for ever imagining that they would. 

* * *

 

                When I woke up, I was soaked to the skin and cold. Water dripped down my hair and my face, and when I decided to open my eyes I kept the left one closed because a water drip would've landed in it if I didn't. Soon I had to squint the other one closed too because I finally realized that my head was right underneath some kind of spigot that kept more water landing on me. My arms were tied above my head, and when I jerked them the angle of the water changed a little, so I assumed they were attached to whatever it was that the water poured from. I also noticed pretty quickly that I had to stay on my knees and keep my back straight; otherwise the bonds pinched and tore at my wrists. 

                "My deepest apologies," someone, Nicodemus, said, and the water over my head was shifted enough that I was able to open my eyes. When I saw his face I realized very suddenly that he had taken my clothes. I looked him over and saw that he had a knife in his belt and I can admit it, I was afraid. He just gave me a smile and slid a silvery coin I recognized too well from his pocket, one with an hourglass on the back. “I will give you a final choice, Harry. Will you take up Lasciel or will you suffer?” I would not take the coin. I would not. I’d promised myself and I’d promised Michael. I wouldn’t take the coin. It would give me power, I knew that, so much power, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I raised up my chin and I spat in his face. He snarled because that was disrespect to the extreme.  

                “I’m not going to be a monster like you.” He glared and then he hit me hard across the face, hard enough that I felt my lips start to bleed. Then he pulled his knife from his belt and turned it in his hand, let me see it glint under the nauseating yellow light.

                “You are already a monster. I simply must give you that last push. I had hoped that you would not make me do this. When it becomes too much, you know your way out. I do hope that I don’t have to kill you.” Better me than my friends. Better me than some suitable vanilla. Better me than most, because he was right. I already was something of a monster. I had taken life and I would probably take more. I’d used my magic for terrible things. I couldn’t say I deserved whatever Nicodemus would do to me, but I couldn’t say I didn’t either. I took a breath and when his knife made that first cut I realized it was so sharp that the pain was belated. When it came, though, it burned and stung and just fucking _hurt,_ and blood dribbled in thin rivulets down my chest, dangerous and valuable and I couldn’t keep it in me even if I wanted to.

                “Do what you want,” I said, and I kept my eyes on his face. I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of me looking away. He made another slice, parallel to the first, too shallow to even make a scar but deep enough to feel like a thousand bee stings.

                “You are more like me than you want to admit, Harry. I’ve seen your past. You killed him, the man you called _Uncle._ Ah, but he hurt you, didn’t he? So much. I have seen the scars, on your body and on your mind. It was understandable, wasn’t it? But they punished you for it. They punished you for protecting yourself. How dare they? Should not they face suffering as well?” I didn’t speak even though the words bit at me, spoke to every dark place I’d ever been through.

                “You don’t know anything about me,” I said.

                “I know enough.” Another cut. He did this one slowly, dragged it out. “Don’t you want to protect those friends of yours? You certainly can’t do it now; you’re too weak. Ms. Murphy, she’s such a pretty thing. Too righteous to work for me, but I could yet use her. She used to dream of being on the force, didn’t she? Like her dearest father. She’d have been a good one as well, strong and loyal, but those silly creatures wouldn’t take her, would they? All because she didn’t have the right parts in her pants. So she was stuck with you, a half-wit PI with nothing to his name but a few silly incantations. Doesn’t she deserve a better partner? Someone she can truly call an equal?” He knew how to get to people, I had to remember that. He knew how to dig deep and cut hard. I knew that. I’d always known that. I just had to remember.

                “If she wanted to leave me she could.” He laughed.

                “She feels bad for you, Wizardling. The pathetic, scrawny little creature who can’t help but throw up a brave face. I’d feel bad for you too, were I a weaker man. Anyone would. The Knight certainly does. He’s a good Christian soul, isn’t he? Always helping those in need, even a damaged creature like you. Broken and dirty and black-souled. He knows you cannot be saved, of course, but he must try. His faith demands it. They’d both be better off without you, really.” He turned the knife a different way, sliced across my belly. My chest had become a sheet of blood.

                “They could all leave me if they wanted. I don’t ask them to stay.”

                “Perhaps not with words, but have you ever considered your face? Those wide eyes, they look just like your mother’s in all but color. So downtrodden if anyone ever shows the slightest sign of leaving you alone. Perhaps that’s why none of those normal parents wanted you. You’re far too needy, you see. But your Master fed off of that, didn’t he? He needed you to need him, so that he could control you. It worked like a breeze, didn’t it? Such a gullible child, desperate for love. You’ve hardly changed.” Another slice. I wondered how long he could keep at this. I wondered how much he had to say. I felt very suddenly like shit and I wanted him to shut up but I could take it.

                “I hate you,” I tried, and he only laughed, licked the knife and my blood, and slid it down my cheek. I didn’t make noise. I could deal with pain; I’d had plenty of practice. I wouldn’t let him hear me cry out.

                “I know, and I love it. Your hate is perfect; uncontrolled and untamed. I want you to hate. All I’d ever have to do is make you hate someone, you realize, make you hate them, cock you, and point you in the right direction. You’d take care of the rest, wouldn’t you? My perfect little weapon, my Lasciel, my tempter, my rebel. You could fetch the mortal for me, that Marcone fellow. Just one little word from you and he’d fall all over himself to have the coin.” I wouldn’t do that either. I didn’t like the man, not one bit, but I wouldn’t ever wish a coin on him. No one deserved that. I didn’t bother talking anymore but he did plenty of that for the both of us. He talked and he cut and he hurt and I didn’t react, I didn’t cry even though I wanted to.

                He kept at it for hours, and I don’t know how long I was there before I finally fell unconscious. It had to have been a while because I was hungry and I was thirsty and I felt sick and tired and a lot of other things. I do know, though, that by the end of it (and this part, this part really makes me feel like all he said was the truth) I was seriously considering asking for the coin just so that the pain would just _stop,_ all of it, every little thing that ever hurt me, physical and not, current and past _._ I’m selfish, I know. I wish I wasn’t, but wishing doesn’t ever do much, especially not for me.

* * *

Murphy’s POV

                Harry was apparently ignoring my calls. Harry never ignored my calls; he knew better. Jack was watching me pace with worry blatant on his face, and finally, after some asshole in his boardinghouse told me that he wasn’t there for the eighth time, I tossed on my jacket and drove to Michael’s with Jack in the car. I left him with Charity and hers and Michael’s children, and brought Michael along to Harry’s apartment with me. We unlocked the door and found his place empty but for his pets. I knew, suddenly and with all certainty, that he’d done something stupid. Again. Michael very obviously knew it too. The matter now, though, was figuring out just what, exactly, we could do about that.  

                “Mouse, what did he do?” I finally asked because the dog was smart; chances were it knew more than it was letting on with its innocent puppy dog eyes. He looked pointedly at the mantle and at the tin by the door, and I noticed that both of his weapons of choice were gone. Okay, so he’d gone somewhere expecting a fight. Where did he go, though? The logical answer would be Nicodemus, but how would he know where he was? “Did he go after Nicodemus?” I asked, and the dog uffed. I took that as a yes. “Okay. Do you know where he went to find him?” The dog shook his head and lowered itself to the floor as if ashamed. “That’s alright. You did good, Mouse.” The creature didn’t look as if he believed me.

                “If he’s gone for Nicodemus then I should be able to find him,” Michael said, fingering the blade at his hip. “I feel, however, that we’d best get ourselves a bit more help before we go after him.” I gritted my teeth and did my damndest not to glare at him.

                “We don’t have time to raise an army, Michael. Who knows what Nicodemus is doing to him?” He kept his gaze steady and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to argue with him; Harry had told me once that he was the most stubborn Holy Man he’d ever met. Apparently the whole meek thing was just a front.

                “Perhaps we don’t, Ms. Murphy, but that man from before, Mr. Marcone, I believe that he could. He would very obviously be willing to be of assistance to us.”

                “Harry wouldn’t want him involved.”

                “Harry will have plenty of time to complain when he is safe and home.” And wasn’t that the truth? Michael can be annoyingly reasonable, when you’re used to dealing with Harry and therefore always being the one with the more reasonable solutions.

                “Alright, come on. We can find him and then we can find Harry.” So that’s what we did. We drove to his office and Michael, who can do menacing really well when he wants to, got us upstairs to see him. He sat up straight and watched us coolly, face kept carefully blank. How Harry had ever mistaken him for an average businessman I’d never know. There was no average businessman in the world who could keep himself quite that collected.

                “May I ask what this is about?” I assumed he thought we were here to harm him somehow. I almost wished that I could say that, but instead I swallowed my pride and bit back what I wanted to say, bit back my ideas of how cruel he was for fooling Harry like he had, and instead just said what I needed to say.

                “Harry went off to fight Nicodemus by himself. We need to go help him, but we can’t do it by ourselves. You’ve got resources, and you like Harry, right? Help us.” He couldn’t stay blank at that, no; a flash of emotion, of worry, shot across his unusually shaded green eyes, and he sat up even straighter.

                “Why would he do such a thing?” I had a lot of answers for that, most of which were a variation on ‘he’s fucking stupid’, but I just chose the simplest answer.

                “Michael and I got hurt pretty badly the last time we tangled with him, and he’s weird about people close to him getting hurt. He probably did it out of some misguided attempt to protect us. Nicodemus is bad news, though; he’s not above doing much to get what he wants.” I’d have figured that it would take more convincing to get him to help us, but I guess I once again underestimated the kind of affect Harry has on people. See, in general, he makes people fall into one of two camps: they either want to eviscerate him, or they want to help him. Marcone had fallen firmly and irrevocably on the help him side no matter how Harry currently felt about him, and I had to be grateful for that even if I didn’t like him or what he did much myself.

He started making calls and we had something like an army together within a half hour. It still felt a little like a funeral march as we left, though, me and Michael leading in his truck as Michael followed his gut (I figure it was probably actually angels or something equally fantastic) to some simple, nondescript house on the outskirts of town. Even I, non-magic though I was, could feel the darkness clinging to the site.

                Walking up to the door was like wading through thick black mud, but Harry was inside and I had to help him because I knew he’d do the same for me, for anyone. I wasn’t going to let him go out like this, protecting me. Sometimes I felt the urge to tell him that he was too good of a friend, but honestly he probably wouldn’t listen to me anyway. I noticed Marcone move quickly to stand beside us, his red haired bull moose just behind us and his miniature militia behind him. Marcone then proceeded to kick the door down, and it gave easily enough that I figured Harry had probably knocked it down earlier already. It didn’t take long for the fight to start after that because a group of three Denarians piled right on top of us. Marcone was shooting at them, his aim true, but I knew firsthand just how little good those would do. No, he’d be better served looking for Harry, and that’s what I told him. He apparently agreed, because he beat a hasty retreat deeper into the house. I turned my focus on killing some dumbass fuzzy thing that thought it’d be a good idea to try to sneak up behind me and break my neck.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                I was disoriented, I can admit it. Those creatures had looked like nothing I’d ever seen before, monsters of the highest order, and I found myself wishing that Gard hadn’t gone back to Norway already. The yellowed walls around me were crumbling in places and the floor creaked so terribly that there was no chance of me having a silent approach. Even still, I had no idea where Harry could possibly be in a place like this. That was when I heard water running, and I was quite sure that no one would see this as the appropriate time for a good bath, so I followed the noise and when I reached the doorway it was coming from, I kicked it hard. It buckled down the middle and fell, and I allowed myself a grin at the accomplishment. When I saw what the door had been hiding, however, the grin faded as quickly as it had come.

                In the center of the room, head under an open pipe that spilled water, hands bound with rope to said pipe, Harry sat on his knees, head down. I could see watery blood flowing from everywhere, his face, his arms, his legs, his chest, and still more pooled around him in the water. I was terrified, for a moment, before I realized that he was breathing. I rushed over to him and saw a coin, one with an hourglass, sitting about a foot away from him. I kicked it out of the way and crouched in front of the enormous man, a marionette with strings pulled too tight, and carefully lifted his head. His eyes were closed. Unconscious, then. Alright. I needed to first get him out of here and into safety, then I could deal with whoever had done this to him. I pulled a knife from my jacket and carved through the ropes, carefully lowered him down to the floor when he lost the one thing keeping him at least partially upright. I carefully avoided touching his rubbed raw wrists as I lifted him up into my arms and went back towards the front of the house.

                I was stopped halfway there by Nicodemus, who simply appeared before me, his shadow large enough to fill the hall. I took one slow step back, Harry’s limbs swaying and thumping against my legs, and Nicodemus smiled.

                “My, aren’t you all just so troublesome. My poor little pets hurt by your wicked Knight, my coins taken from me! What a world, yes? Ah well. I suppose you’ll be leaving now? Well, I will as well. Here you are, a parting gift; catch,” he said, and something silver was flying towards me. Instinctively I wanted to grab it, but instead I stepped back and out of the way of it, and it landed right at my feet. Nicodemus waved at me, and then he was gone. Once more I felt the urge to bend down and pluck up the coin, this one just slightly different from the one he’d tried to give me the first time; I could use it to save Harry, to keep him safe. Obviously he couldn’t do it himself. He needed me strong, he needed me capable. He needed me with power, and his friends would never take it; this power wasn’t clean, wasn’t righteous. I’d never been either of those things, so it wouldn’t hurt me to take it. I could wield it properly, without guilt, just as I wielded my hold on Chicago. I stared down at the tarnished silver and wanted so badly to just _take_ it. No one would know and I could use it to protect those I cared for. My hold on Harry tightened just a bit and then Michael and Ms. Murphy came running down the hall towards me. I bit back the urge to curse.

                “Is he breathing?” Murphy asked as soon as she reached us, her worried blue eyes tracing over Harry’s limp form. I hardly resisted the need to hide him from her.

                “Yes,” I said shortly, and she nodded. Michael, I noticed, was holding a small, silken bag. He bent at the knee and used the edge of his robe to pick up the coin at my feet and slip it into the bag. The arm with which he did that, I noticed, appeared to be at an impossible angle, and Ms. Murphy was limping, blood matting her blonde hair. Michael was bleeding from somewhere as well, I knew, considering his white robe was soaked in it, but neither of them seemed too worse for wear.

                “Are there any other coins?” Michael questioned, and I nodded.

                “Yes. There was one in front of Harry when I found him, one with an hourglass.” Michael looked a bit surprised.

                “He left Lasciel out in the open? Show me where; that coin has oft been a wild card in the deck. It would be quite useful if it was with the Church, at least for a while. Safer for Harry as well.” I led the man back to the room where Harry had been, to where the silvered coin had lain, but it was gone. Michael sighed. “I suppose I should have expected that. Come, you’ll want to see the damage done, I’m sure. Not all of your men made it.” I’d expected as much.

                “Is Mr. Hendricks well?” I asked.

                “The red head?” Murphy questioned, “He’s fine. I think he might’ve cracked his wrist, but otherwise he’s good. He was helping a few of the younger guys bandage up their battle wounds when we left.”

                “That’s good,” I said, and it was. Mr. Hendricks had been my closest friend for years; I never wanted him harmed. Hell, I hadn’t even really wanted him involved in this business. He was too smart for it anyway. We left the wicked house slowly, all of us still breathing, and the sun was surprisingly welcome even though we’d only been inside for perhaps an hour. That was when Michael held out his hands for Harry and I felt a strange urge to simply leave, Harry still with me. As it stood I curled my arms around him more tightly, as if he were a child, and kept just slightly out of the larger man’s reach.

                “Mr. Marcone?” Michael asked, and I shook my head.

                “He needs a doctor. I’ll assume I have better access to those than you.” Murphy growled and I was actually a little surprised at how threatening, how strong, she sounded. It was at that point that Harry began to wake up, his eyes slowly peeling apart, and a groan fell from his dry, cracked lips. He squirmed in my arms and tilted his head back at an angle at which he could see Ms. Murphy. He smiled, brilliant despite the situation, and then laughed a bit. His voice sounded tired and weak when he spoke.

                “Hey, Murphy. You doing okay?” She looked caught between laughing and screaming, and Michael only looked indulgently worried, as if he’d seen this scene too many times to be anything else.

                “You are the stupidest man I’ve ever met,” she hissed, and Harry smiled again.

                “I know,” he told her, and then he wiggled. “Hey, Michael, think you could let me down? I feel like I can walk.”

                “I’m not Michael,” I said, and he jumped a little as Michael himself stepped into his view. He moved his head and saw me and his squirming doubled.

                “Let me go, asshole. What the fuck are you doing here anyway?”

                “Saving your life,” I hissed, and he stilled, actually looking a little cowed.

                “Oh. Um. Yeah. Thanks, for, uh, that. Can you please let me go, though?” He said please. That shocked me more than damn near anything, and that shock caused me to do as he asked and let him stand on his own. He made his way over to Ms. Murphy, wobbling and weaving on the way, and when he reached her his head drooped down onto her shoulder and she carefully helped support him with arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I heard him mumbling into her neck over and over again. The words sounded wet as well, wet and still tired, and I realized that he was crying.

                “You don’t have a reason to be sorry,” she whispered, her hand gently patting his back. He wasn’t a theatrical crier, I noticed. His back didn’t heave and he didn’t make noise, but all the same I realized he was doing it. Murphy seemed to as well, although I supposed that that was only understandable considering that she’d likely feel the wetness on her skin.

                “I’ve got plenty,” he murmured, “You deserve better than me. All of you do. I’m just… I’m just broken. You don’t have to feel bad for me.”

                “I don’t. You’re too damned stupid. Come on, we’re taking you to Butters. You probably need to get some of these cuts stitched up.” He picked up his head and the blood and smeared from his face to her clothes. “Michael, give him your robe too.” The man did, and finally the man got at least some coverage.

                “He can’t afford a doctor on his own and I’m sure it isn’t the easiest thing for any of you to do either. He needs me at the moment; let me be of assistance.” Murphy and Michael spoke at the same time, but they said vastly different things. Although, I suppose they both amounted to the same thing; Michael was simply more polite.

                “You’ve given plenty of help already. We could not have found him without the help of you and your men.”

                “He needs his friends, not you, bastard. You’ve done enough.” Harry looked so small, wrapped up in Michael’s robe, shivering and with blood and tears covering his face. His hair was all matted up too, his eyes a little bloodshot. He needed me and they simply didn’t understand. He needed me and they were taking him. I felt myself moving to grab him (it wasn’t as if they could really stop me if I did, I had an army and they had two people, and Harry was too weak to do much in the way of fighting me at the moment anyway) but Hendricks curled his fingers subtly into the back of my shirt, a clean, clear warning that he was in no way planning on letting me exact my admittedly terrible idea. Ms. Murphy and Michael didn’t appear to have noticed a bit of that particular battle. They walked passed me, each of them supporting Harry’s arms, and it seemed he’d fallen into something of a delirium after his original mostly lucid state because he was murmuring to them both quietly.

                “Don’t leave me, I know you should and you probably want to but don’t leave me, I can’t be alone.” For the first time I thought about the fact that he’d been an orphan. I thought about the fact that he had seemed somewhat unwilling to speak of it beyond informing me of that much. His friends appeared to be wincing and hushing and reassuring him as they brought him to Michael’s truck and loaded him up, and I wondered if they knew any more than I did. I’d simply assumed that he’d had a relatively good experience in foster care, that he’d gotten a family and people to call parents, whether they were his or not. I’d obviously been wrong, if his behavior now was any indication, and it seemed that Nicodemus had done more than simply hurt him physically. I’d have to look into this.

                I watched the truck drive off with something that had to have looked a little like malice on my face, and Hendricks shifted his hold from the back of my shirt to my shoulder, and turned me towards our car. I allowed him to escort me back to my office without prompting, at which point I began working out funeral arrangements for the men who had passed. I had the best for them, of course; they had helped me save Harry. They deserved it. Hendricks and I split the duty of informing the families, however, because I wanted to take a bit more time on that, and without his assistance I wouldn’t have had the time to take. Those people deserved more in acknowledgement than a cold, cursory explanation. These had been my people, my guys. They were important to me whether I knew them well or not. Besides, I had had people I loved and cared for die on me, and I hadn’t gotten the comfort of someone who gave a damn. I wanted to give that to these people, and they seemed to appreciate it. Night had fallen by the time I finished, and Hendricks pulled me up to my feet by my upper arm.

                “May I ask where you’re taking me?” He grinned, crooked and easy, relaxed far more now that we were back here and done with the messy work.

                “The Velvet Room,” he said, “You need to relax a little, Boss. That Dresden guy has you all balled up.” I recalled the fact that Bianca, the owner of the Velvet Room, had been at that party, meaning that she was somehow supernaturally inclined.

                “I do not think that doing that would be the best idea at the moment, Nathan,” I said, and he sighed.

                “Boss, I don’t like seeing you this way. You need to distract yourself; I’m not expecting you to give up on him or anything, I know you better than that. A good girl would give you a good time, though; let you leave off for a little bit while the dust settles. Come on, we’ll take the breezer, yeah? Maybe have a drink afterwards, like old times,” he said, and finally I just had to smile. Bianca had never wished me ill will before, and I didn’t think seeing me at a party would change that. Besides, Hendricks was right. It wouldn’t be good for me to get too stuck on one person. Bad for business and all that. I followed him out to my favorite cars, the one I’d first driven Harry in, and settled in the passenger’s seat while he let the roof go back and drove too fast all the way to the Velvet Room.

* * *

 

                We knocked softly on the Velvet Room’s door, and Bianca’s close personal assistant, Rachel, answered the door with a small smile. She led us both inside and into a small area that served as something like a waiting room where we could decide who we wanted for the evening. That night, I didn’t particularly feel like any of the girls I usually had, probably because Harry had gotten me so tangled up in myself.

                I had no idea why I was so enthralled by him, to tell the truth, beyond the fact that he was so strangely different from everyone else I’d ever met. He was handsome, certainly, but not the sort of man I usually liked; he was nearly a foot taller than me and almost too thin, with hair and eyes darker than I normally enjoyed, but there was something about him, something kind and beautiful and so, so _different._ He wasn’t terrified of me or of my status. He didn’t want my money. He had liked me as a man, when he’d liked me, and he was so strangely moral for someone of his age and in this time.

                He seemed as if he belonged somewhere else; hell, he didn’t even understand half of the terminology people around him used. He was a good man and I didn’t know enough good men. I wanted him, and he was very likely one of the only people I’d ever wanted that didn’t just fall into my arms when I gave them the slightest inkling of interest. Harry, as a matter of fact, didn’t even seem to notice that I was interested in the first place. He was strange and I appreciated it. The fact that I had to work to get him only made me want him more because it had been a long time since I’d gotten a good challenge. A line of women, each of them hardly dressed, came traipsing into the room and apparently Hendricks had ordered a line-up without me realizing.

                I saw the girl I’d take immediately; she was tall and thin, not quite so shapely as the others, with short, dark hair that was almost exactly the right shade and curled in almost exactly the right way. The only issue, I realized, were her eyes, which were brown, but they were far too pale. That could be easily fixed with the right position, however. I pretended to look the girls over for a minute or two, as if I were indecisive, but really I was just watching Hendricks resolutely stare anywhere else even as a few girls made him offers. I wondered if Ms. Gard realized how lucky she was to have garnered his affections, wondered if she’d return them. I couldn’t help but hope so; Hendricks deserved his happy ending. Finally I stepped up to the little dark haired thing and took her by the wrist. She seemed a bit surprised, I assumed because she’d likely seen me here before and known that I hadn’t been particularly interested in her. She got over it quite quickly, however, because she led me down the hallway to her room, leaving Hendricks to wait for me in the front room with the other girls.

                She knew what she was doing, I had to give her that, but then I’d always known that Bianca only hired the best. She didn’t even question me when I kept her situated so that the only thing visible to me was her dark curled hair and the sparse curve of her back down to her ass. She did, however, have a question or three while I was dressing, and I supposed I couldn’t blame her for that.

                “You’ve got it bad for someone, don’t you Mr. Milano?” she asked using that name because that was what I requested she call me, if she had to speak. I’d asked that she avoid doing that if she could, however, because her voice was far too high to keep the illusion up if she spoke too much.

                “What do you mean?” I asked, and she shrugged her thin shoulders as she tied a pink, silk robe around herself.

                “You didn’t want to look at my face or hear me talk. I must not look or sound enough like whoever you wish I was to get you off. I bet it was my hair, wasn’t it? She has my hair? You seemed to like touching it.” Some of the curls had fallen out and I supposed they weren’t quite as natural as I’d thought.

                “Close enough,” I told her, and she smiled.

                “She’s got a funny name, though. Harry, I think you said. It short for Harriet or something?”

                “I don’t understand,” I said, now a bit nervous. I slipped my shoes on and shrugged my coat over my shoulders mechanically.

                “Harry, that’s what you yelled when you came. I figured that was who you were picturing; after all, I don’t know many other reasons to yell someone’s name when you’re in bed with someone.” I’d yelled his name. I wondered what I was expecting, choosing a girl who looked just enough like him to pull off the illusion. Why hadn’t I gone for one of the others, if I’d wanted to distract myself? This had only made the need worse. If anything it had only served to show me just how much I liked him; I’d thought it was an infatuation, really, something that would go away the moment I got him to lie down for me, but now… I wanted to know everything about him, his past, present, and future. I wanted to make him smile for me like he had in the beginning. I wanted to keep him all to myself, away from those friends of his that had taken him away from me when I could’ve taken care of him. I wanted to keep him safe and happy. I wanted _him._ Hendricks was right; he did have me all balled up. He had me distracted. Without even meaning to, without wanting to, Harry Dresden had wrapped me around his little finger. I laughed because this seemed like a good time to.

                “Ah, yes. I don’t know if it’s short for anything. It’s always been Harry,” I said, and she smiled again.

                “Well, she’s a lucky girl. Come by again if you want to talk about her; that’s usually half my job anyway, talking to men who want some doll they just can’t have. Really you can come by again whenever; I’d love to know how it turns out with her, by the way, if you ever ask her!” I nodded my head and left, Hendricks realizing as soon as I did that his plan hadn’t worked as well as he’d hoped.

                “This isn’t just an… an infatuation anymore, is it?” he finally questioned me when we neared my apartment.

                “I’m afraid not,” I murmured, “I want him more than anything. All of him, perhaps for always.” Hendricks winced a little, but then he’d never seen me this way before. _I’d_ never seen me this way before. That night, I had to admit, was a revelation despite all the bad things that had happened. I knew what I wanted for sure, now, and I wasn’t going to rest until I was successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All balled up-confused  
> Breezer-convertible car


	7. Chapter 7

Harry’s POV

                I know it shouldn’t have really surprised me, but I got banned from going to the office (or from leaving my apartment at all, for that matter) until I healed. Now, I normally would have had no problem totally disobeying this command, but it came down from Murphy herself, meaning I’d best listen to it if I wanted to not get my arm broken the next time we sparred. She was at least nice enough to bring me enough groceries to last me until I could walk without hobbling/doubling over to clutch at my shiny new stitches, and she promised to bring me some new books from the library so I wouldn’t be too bored. Still yet, I don’t like being pent up in one place. I mean, it had only been a day and I was already making cyclic rounds through my apartment in my annoyance. Also, can I please tell you how difficult it is to pace through a living space that has only three rooms, one of which is the bathroom, and one interior door? I mean, it’s ridiculous!

                Anyway, what I’m trying to get across is that I was going rapidly stir-crazy, so when I heard someone knocking at my door, I was understandably excited. I hobbled my way over, most of my body weight supported by my trusty staff because my cut up legs were getting annoyed at the overuse and my stomach and chest, where the deepest of the marks had been made, were both screaming at me to lie down and stop being stupid. I pulled the door open hard despite all this, and when I saw that Mickey was on the other side, I managed a smile.

                “Hey there, Mickey,” I said, and he smiled too, although his looked a little wobbly. I pulled down the wards when it looked like he was about to step in, and got them down just in time. I put them up behind him and gestured at my couch as a sign that he could sit. I followed him, except for I took my customary place in my chair instead of beside him.

                “I heard you got hurt, but I didn’t think it’d be this bad. I figured it’d just be a few scrapes and bruises. What the hell happened to you?” I shrugged.

                “I had a run in with some guy with a grudge. Didn’t turn out too peachy on my side, obviously. So, what’d you need?” He blinked and cocked his head.

                “You’re my buddy, Harry. I just wanted to come check on you, once I heard. Wish you well and all.” Mickey was a good man, for the most part; I’d seen as much. I didn’t need him hanging around, though, not with his ties to Vargassi. They’d only draw more attention to me, and that was exactly the opposite of what I needed just then. Still, he was a nice enough man and I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or something.

                “Oh. Well, thanks I guess. I mean, my friend Murphy already brought food by, and she said she’s coming with books for me pretty soon, so I’ll be alright until I’m on my feet again.” He smiled, a little crooked and relaxing now that he was getting more used to my various injuries, a lot of which were bared since putting on a shirt had hurt too much, so I hadn’t bothered with one.

                “You talk like me wanting to check on you is confusing.”

                “I guess it sort of is. I get injured, like, every other week at least. My friends are used to it. They make sure I get medical treatment and they make sure I keep everything clean and they make sure I have stuff to eat and stuff to entertain me. They know that beyond that, I’ve had plenty of practice looking after myself when I’m hurt.” I wished I hadn’t said that as soon as it passed my lips, and I was quickly hoping that he didn’t ask about that. I didn’t want to talk about the things that could bring up. I shifted a bit and he seemed to realize that I’d said something I hadn’t planned on saying because he didn’t ask. I felt a surge of gratefulness and offered him a small smile for it.

                “Well, I’m not used to it, so I’m going to come by every so often. You said that girly was bringing you books, right? Why don’t I bring a few by too?”

                “You don’t have to-,” he cut me off with a hand as he stood and smiled down at me.

                “I want to; it’s no trouble, I swear.” And then he left. I stared behind him at the door and sighed. I managed a whole ten minutes before I was back to making my rounds around the house, Mouse and Mister staring at me as if I were an alien the entire time. 

* * *

 

                Mickey came back about twenty minutes later and paused when I opened the door. His arms were piled high with books, books of every kind, and I couldn’t help but smile, especially considering the fact that in what I assumed was a period of random grabbing of whatever books he could find, he’d managed to pluck out a few that I’d actually wanted to read. They were even in hardback, too, and I could never afford hardback books! I pulled down the wards with a smile and gestured for him to come back in. He did so, kicking the door shut behind him as I got the wards back up, and then settled his load onto my coffee table. It creaked a little under the strain of holding more than a coffee cup or my feet, and he stared at it distrustfully.

                “Thanks,” I said, “When do I need to return them?” He blinked.

                “What do you mean?”

                “You got them from the library, right? Or off your own bookshelf. Either way, they’ll need to get brought back eventually.” He blinked at me again.

                “I bought them for you,” he said, “They’re yours.” I honestly had no idea what I was meant to say to that. All those books couldn’t have been cheap, and I wasn’t exactly used to people buying things for me, at least not luxury items like books. I thought of Marcone, then, of all the stuff he still hadn’t bothered to come and take back, the fucking bastard. Of course, thinking about him did give me the good sense to be suspicious.

                “Did Vargassi put you up to this?” That had him even more shocked, and actually almost a little offended.

                “No! I like you! Can’t I do right by someone I like?” His voice got a little slow when he said that, a drawl peeking out and reminding me of my time in Missouri. It probably shouldn’t have relaxed me, but it did. I didn’t get to see or hear much in Chicago that let me remember that place or that time. A crooked smile split my lips and I laughed, sitting beside him instead of in my chair, and gently palming the top book.

                “Yeah, you can. Sorry. I haven’t had the best relationship with people giving me presents lately, though. Seems like they’ve always got some other reason behind it. I like the accent, by the way. Where are you from?” He actually went a little pink at the apples of his cheeks, and when he next spoke his voice was all Chicago again.

                “South Carolina. But it’s been years since I’ve lived there. What about you? You don’t sound like anywhere.”

                “That’s because I’ve lived pretty much everywhere, at least for a few weeks. I never really stayed in one place long enough to pick up an accent. The only reason I asked you was because you sounded like my foster father for a minute. He lives in Missouri,” I explained, and he looked a little uncomfortable all of a sudden.

                “Foster father?” I rolled my eyes and nodded. Of course he was going to be one of those, one of the ones who suddenly started handling me with kid gloves just because of that.

                “Yeah. Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? Don’t start acting weird around me just because of that. A lot of people do, once they find out.” He nodded.

                “Well, he was good to you, right? Not like…” I laughed.

                “Yeah, Eb was good to me. Stones, he’s the one who for the train ticket to get me here. I always loved Chicago, you know? When I was little, my dad used to tell me about how my mom loved the place. He’d bring me here with him whenever he could, for shows and stuff.”

                “Shows?”

                “Yeah. My dad was a stage magician, you know? Like Houdini, or Blackstone. He liked them so much that he named me after them, actually. Anyway, I loved watching him perform, back then. He used to let me help him practice and stuff, showed me a trick or two before he died. He told me that I was going to be his assistant when I got old enough, but I never got the chance.”

                “How, uh, how old were you? You know, when he died? And what happened to your mom?” He looked as if he thought he was going to make me cry, and I patted his shoulder companionably and smiled again to show him that I was fine.

                “He died of an aneurysm when I was six, and my mom died when I was born. Still, my dad talked about her enough that I felt like I knew her myself. This was hers,” I said, gesturing to the pentacle that hung between my collar bones.

                “And you went to live with that guy in Missouri after that?”

                “Close enough,” I said because that was one chunk of time I didn’t want to talk about, and he didn’t seem to notice or care about the evasive answer because he just nodded. I stretched even though it made the stitches in my stomach pull and ache, then leaned against the back of the couch. I had my eyes shut and I was just breathing, suddenly immensely glad over my continued existence.

                I hadn’t really had the time or the energy to consider what had happened until now, just how close to either taking the coin or dying that I’d come. Nicodemus was ruthless and he was cruel. He wanted me or he wanted me dead and he’d almost gotten his wish because I’d jumped right into his hands. I could suddenly understand why Murphy and Michael had been so upset with me. It made sense, really; I couldn’t blame them for it. I probably needed to talk to them soon, I decided, get all that had brought the situation to that out in the open. That was when someone knocked at my door and interrupted my musing. I sighed and moved to stand, but Mickey put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back where I was.

                “I’ll get it,” he said, and I shrugged since I figured that it was probably just Murphy anyway. It wasn’t, though, and when I saw who it really was I was on my feet in seconds, shambling my way over to the door with a frown set deeply onto my face.

                “Mickey! I hadn’t thought that you’d be here; what a nice surprise,” Vargassi the one who ordered my kidnapping said, and Mickey looked so honestly puzzled at his presence that I felt almost bad for him.

                “What the hell are you doing here, Vargassi? I really don’t have the patience to deal with you right now, okay? I’m tired and injured enough that my body would really prefer that I went to bed and didn’t move for a year.” He smiled and then displayed the object under his arm, a small, brown paper wrapped package.

                “I simply heard that you’d been injured and thought you might appreciate this,” he said, passing me the package. It felt heavy, I noticed, and I stared down at it. Mickey glanced down at his feet and stared forlornly over at the stack of books he’d brought me.

                “I don’t want anything you give me,” I said, and tried to hand it back to him. He stepped backwards and shut my door for me. I glared and stomped back over to the couch, Mickey following me.

                “Are you going to open that?” he asked me. I shook my head and glared at it some more.

                “Nope. You can throw it out for me, if you want.”

                “Don’t you want to know what it is first?” I shrugged.

                “It’s probably a gun with a contract wrapped around it. Whatever it is, though, I don’t want it.” He squirmed a little, a strange, almost childish reaction for a man of his size, but I didn’t care enough to question it.

                “He’s already annoyed with me for being here. Can you just open it, please? So I don’t get into more trouble with him?” I sighed and tore open the plain brown paper. Inside the cardboard box sat another box, this one made of metal, and I slid it out. It felt like iron, I noted, and lifted its lid. It was full of little glass bottles, and said glass bottles were full of different sorts of water. At first glance, I saw rose water, witch hazel extract, and orange blossom water, all things I could use in various potions. A note informing me that Vargassi had seen this set and thought of me was stuck to the inside of the box’s lid. I closed it up and put it on the small table beside my couch. I needed some of the stuff in that box, but it was from _Vargassi._ Who the hell knew what he’d expect of me if I took that?”

                “Take it with you when you go. You can tell him I kept it if you want, but I’m not keeping it. Look, I’m going to go lie down for a while, okay? The painkillers are starting to kick in, you know? Thanks for the books, though.” He smiled, and he did take the box when he left. I didn’t go to bed like I’d said I was going to, though; I was too… something. Annoyed, maybe, hyped up. Instead I just sprawled across my couch and grabbed one of the books I’d seen in the pile that I’d wanted.  For the first time in days I managed to do something dumb like relax and settled my jangling nerves.

                I didn’t get to do it for long, though; no, that would’ve been granting me too much kindness. I got about an hour, and then someone else was knocking at my door, and, surprise surprise, it still wasn’t Murphy like I was hoping. I couldn’t quite decide if this visitor was worse or better than the last. I finally settled on better, but only because it was the devil I knew.

                “Harry,” Marcone said, a small smile touching his lips, “You shouldn’t be out of bed as injured as you are.” I sighed and propped myself up on the door because my legs were really starting to ache.

                “I’ve already had my dose of organized crime for the day, Marcone; the other one got here first, bearing shitty gifts. I’m trying to read; go away.” He looked ready to shoulder inside, before he remembered my wards and stopped abruptly just before he crossed the threshold. Darn.

                “The other one? Harry, do you mean Vargassi?” I sighed.

                “No, dumbass, I meant Al Capone. Of course I was talking about Vargassi; beyond you and him, what self-respecting gangster would bother with their neighborhood Wizard PI?”

                “What did he bring you?” I tried to get across my annoyance in a single glance, but it didn’t seem to affect him. I assumed he was simply too much of a bastard to care.

                “Didn’t I ask you to be elsewhere?”

                “Tell me what he brought you, and I’ll go.” I sighed.

                “Just some different waters I could’ve used for potions and things. I asked Mickey to get rid of them after Vargassi left.”

                “Mickey?” He let himself show just the tiniest bit of confusion, but it was gone in a flash. It couldn’t be natural, for someone to be able to control their expressions that well. I yawned and felt my legs start wavering a little as I moved them and reawakened the pain of the cuts.

                “Yeah. You know, one of the guys who lives upstairs? Brought me out for drinks a while ago? Got you all in his face for no good reason? He brought me those books over there,” I said, gesturing at where all but one of them sat on the table, and at the single one draped over the arm of the couch where I’d placed it upon standing.

                “Ah, yes, one of Vargassi’s boys. I’d thought you didn’t like accepting gifts from people like us,” he said, looking almost annoyed, and I shrugged.

                “Mickey isn’t like you two.” Marcone laughed, crossing his arms over his broad chest and somehow not looking like he was being childish. I really don’t think it’s fair that guys like him can look so damn suave and all, and all I can do is hobble around with stitches and pretend like I look impressive.

                “Perhaps he’s just better at hiding his true character. He’s a criminal, same as me.”

                “You’re lucky I’m not actually a cop, otherwise I could probably arrest you for that.” I didn’t mention the other thing he said, though, because that would’ve meant acknowledging that I’d trusted someone I shouldn’t have again, this time just because he had a hidden accent that reminded me of better days.

                “Yes, I’m sure you’d be the one who made something stick on me.”

                “If I looked into your tax history I probably could.” That made him laugh again, and I suddenly groped out for my mantle to keep myself standing. He stopped laughing as suddenly as he’d started.

                “Harry, you must go and lie down. Let me come in, yes? I’ll help you.” I can tell you now that if I hadn’t thought I’d fall on my ass without immediate assistance I wouldn’t have done it, but I did think that, so I let the wards drop and told him he could come in. He wrapped one arm, too large, around my waist and settled the other on my bicep. “Where is your bedroom?”

                “There’s one door, Johnny, where the hell do you think it is? Let me grab that book first. It’s good, and I want to finish it.” He sighed.

                “I’ll bring it to you once I’ve got you lying down.” I didn’t bother to argue, instead just told him how to open my admittedly finicky bedroom door (see, you had to jiggle the knob just so, otherwise it would stay firmly closed) and let him settle me onto my tiny twin bed. He stared disgustedly at it, especially when I swung my legs up and revealed that my feet hung just slightly off the edge of it. He went and got me my book without comment anyway. “I’ll return tomorrow, alright? Obviously you are incapable of looking after yourself in this state.” I tried to argue but then he was gone and I could only let out a frustrated groan to the air. I then brooded on how spectacularly unhelpful Mister and Mouse had been that day, and shortly after that I accidentally fell asleep.

* * *

 

                I didn’t wake up again until the next morning, and when I went into the apartment’s main room again, I found a pile of library books. Apparently I’d missed Murphy’s visit, but she’d left me a note saying that she’d drop by again if she got the chance, and that she’d made me some dinner and put it in the icebox for me. That made me smile, and the fact that I was able to walk in there without stumbling made me smile even harder; one plus of being a Wizard is that you heal with admittedly shocking speed. Anyway, I opened up the icebox and found the dinner she’d been talking about, a pork chop and a salad, and it tasted okay even though I had to eat it cold. Really it was shaping up to be a pretty good day, until I opened my front door so I could go into the upstairs part of the boardinghouse and call Murphy.

                See, I found a package on the ground in front of my door, wrapped in brown paper. I picked it up and carried it back inside, sat on my couch, and tore it open. I saw another metal box inside, and when I opened this one, I found empty bottles instead of ones full of water. These were prettier, though; the glass done in different colors with silver and gold plated caps. The felt heavy and solid in my hands, and the note in the top said that Vargassi hoped I liked these better than the others. I glared, left them on my coffee table, and went to call Murphy.

                “Hey,” I said when she picked up, and I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

                “What are you doing out of bed? You need to lay around for another two days, at least. If you’re calling to make me change my mind about that, you’re out of luck.” I shook my head even though she wouldn’t see.

                “Nah, I just wanted to thank you for the food and the books. And to ask about when you’re going to come over. Marcone dropped by yesterday too, and apparently he’s planning to make himself right at home, plus Vargassi is sending me presents and I really don’t know what to do about any of that.” The line was silent.

                “How the hell could you possibly manage to get yourself involved with both of the major criminal elements in the city?”

                “I don’t know!” She laughed.

                “Well, I’ll be over at about one or so. Hopefully you can hold down the fort until then.”

                “Yeah. Bye, Murphy.”

                “Go back to bed, Dresden.” She then proceeded to hang up because politeness has never been her strong suit. I smiled anyway and went back to my place, curled into my couch again and read some more. Vargassi’s present remained a plague on my rather simple existence, though. Either way, I’d take a hundred plagues like that over the one I had to deal with next, the plague of Johnny Marcone knocking at my door at twelve thirty. I opened it because I didn’t know that it was him when I did, and he smiled until he saw the box.

                “Another?” he asked me, and I nodded.

                “Yeah. As if that should matter to you. Anyway, I assume you just came by to make sure that I wasn’t dead and that your access to magic wasn’t therefore removed, but as you can see I’m perfectly fine. As a matter of fact, I can even stand up and walk around now without the cuts on my legs hurting. I’ll be perfectly fine and dandy again by the end of the week. Ra, ra!” I waved my hands as if I had a set of pom poms, and sadly reflected on the fact that I’d never went to high school and therefore had never had the chance to be a cheerleader.

                “May I come in?”

                “What for?”

                “I assume you could use the company. I’m sure I’m not your first choice, of course, but at least you’d get the pleasure of yelling at me, correct?” Murphy was probably on her way by now, I knew that, and I also knew that the bastard would probably never shut up if I didn’t, so I just opened the door a little wider, pulled down the wards, and let him in. He strode in as if he lived there himself, and when he sat on my couch, his arm settled over the back of it, body canted just a little sideways, legs crossed at the knee, he looked like a smug tiger. His smile matched the body language, and I gaped as he slid a small box from inside his jacket. “Shut the door, won’t you?” I did, and pulled the wards up again behind me. “Come here.” I sat down in my chair.

                “You’d better not mess up that book there,” I said, “I don’t get hardbacks often.” He sighed and tossed me the box. I flipped it open and found a ring inside, a ring that glinted silver-gold-silver in the room’s half-light. It was engraved with symbols, too, protective ones that, when I touched them with a little magic, glowed with a soft blue light like that which came off of my pentacle when I used it. It was enchanting, honestly, and I could feel the charms on it from a mile away. It didn’t feel malevolent, though, and I guess that was the strange part. I looked at it closer, at the blue stone set into it in particular, and only saw more symbols inlaid into the stone itself. It was good work, whatever it was, clean and old.

                “Do you like it? It’s made of electrum; I’ve heard that’s quite a powerful mixture in magical circles. The Egyptians were quite fond of it.”

                “Where did you get this?” I asked him, and he only cocked his head.

                “A sometimes employee of mine gave it to me some years ago. It does me little good sitting upon a shelf, however; I thought you could make better use of it.”

                “This thing is covered in enough protective charms to stop more than one bullet, Marcone. It’s not the kind of thing you should just give away. It’s… this thing is old, okay? Older than both of us combined, probably. I mean, I could probably find out who owned it originally, if you wanted; something this powerful is definitely recorded somewhere. If I had to guess I’d say it was made in the middle ages; whoever owned it was a bad ass, too. Probably something close to invincible when they wore this.” I tried to give it back to him, but he wouldn’t take it.

                “Once again, you could make better use of it than I. I don’t want you hurt, Harry, not again. Keep it, will you?” I sighed and stood, sat it on my mantle beside my blasting rod.

                “There, you happy? Hell’s Bells, it’s not like I need it. My shield bracelet does basically the same thing, and I made it, so of course I trust it more,” I said, jangling my wrist to show off the offending piece of jewelry, the little medieval shields clinking together quietly.

                “Still yet,” he said. I huffed.

                “Why do you give a damn anyway? All you want is me on your payroll, and it isn’t going to happen, so you may as well just leave. Murphy’s coming by soon anyway.” He just relaxed more on my couch, somehow not looking out of place despite his fancy suit and his fedora-shadowed eyes. He looked like a man in charge, just then, a lazy predator. “You can take your hat off, by the way. We’re inside.” He did so, but that didn’t really do much to cut the image.

                “I swear to you yet again that while your employment would not be something I’m averse to, it is not my goal. I simply like you, Harry; I’d like to be as we were in the beginning again.” I curled into my chair, got my feet into it beside me even though it took some doing to do that comfortably. Mister leapt suddenly from his high place on my bookshelf and mewed at Marcone, who picked him up with ease and stroked him kindly. Mister purred rapturously and I glared at the little traitor as my door opened. I actually got to see Marcone jump a little, but I didn’t worry over it because there was pretty much only one person that could be. I lifted my hand to wave over the back of the chair.

                “Hey, Murphy. You having a good day so far? Mine was awesome, until Mr. Legitimate Businessman over there came by bearing gifts.” Murphy laughed and came around to the other side of the chair where I could see her, a bag over her arm that smelled absolutely delicious.

                “Well, is the legitimate businessman planning on leaving, or am I throwing him out.”

                “I’d really rather stay, Ms. Murphy. I can’t see where I’m causing any harm.” I glared at him, petting my cat and sitting on my couch and just generally existing in my life. I wondered what I’d done to deserve such an awful fate.

                “I say it’s his fault Vargassi is harassing me now. You accidentally show one lying scumbag some magic tricks and then every scumbag in the city is after you! It’s ridiculous!” She blinked slowly and sat the bag, which I discovered contained food from a restaurant a few blocks from her house that I absolutely loved, on my lap. I began to dig into it as she turned her attention to Marcone.

                “So they both know about your magic and now they’re both giving you presents.” She sounded caught between horror and hilarity. I was hoping that she’d go for horror, but she took it the opposite direction and started doubling over in her laughter. It was at that point that my door opened again and Kincaid walked in too, Ivy at his side. I couldn’t help but smile despite my annoyance, especially when her face split in a wide grin and she dropped Kincaid’s hand. I moved my food to the coffee table, hoping against hope that Mouse wouldn’t come and take it while everyone was distracted, and picked her up carefully. Her tiny fingers touched what had to be the worst mark I’d been given, one right at the center of my chest that had been made directly over my heart. She whispered a quiet word and that mark, along with all the others, healed over neatly. She smiled at my gasp and soft shudder, and I patted her head.

                “Ivy,” I said, and she didn’t smile, but her face lit up all the same.

                “Kincaid informed me that you had been hurt. I felt it would be best if I came by with him and Ms. Murphy in order to heal you. Nicodemus was quite cruel to you; he wrote of what he’d done, I assume so that I would know of it.” I gently ran my now healed hand through her hair, and she hopped off of my lap and meowed for Mister, who came running immediately. She crouched down by my chair and stroked through his fur. I nodded.

                “Thanks, Ivy, and yeah, that sounds like something he’d do. How’ve you been, Kincaid? Get any good work lately?” He laughed.

                “Nothing you’d want to know about, Dresden. They did at least pay me though.” I could tell he wanted to call me something, after that, but no one cusses around Ivy. I don’t really know why; she knows every cuss word that’s ever been said, and she could probably be more creative with them than either of us, but I figure it’s the principle of it. She deserves to be treated like a little girl sometimes.

                “You’re never letting that go, are you?” He came up and scruffed my hair as if I were a child, and then settled an arm around Murphy’s shoulders as she continued laughing. “What’s so funny, Karrin?” he asked, and she finally managed to straighten up. She even had to wipe the tears out of her eyes, I noticed, and glared at the floor.

                “Harry’s getting presents from two men,” she said.

                “Three, technically. The guy who lives upstairs, the one from the 1914, brought me some books yesterday.” Kincaid’s eyebrows went up to his hairline.

                “Didn’t think you had it in you, Dresden.” I sighed.

                “Not like that. The only thing either of them is trying to seduce me into is their employment.” Kincaid kept his eyebrows raised, and turned his gaze to Marcone.

                “Employment, huh? I wonder what kind.” His pale brown-gold eyes were sparking with a little bit of mischief. “I can’t help but not buy that. What about you, Karrin? What do you think he’s after?” Murphy turned a quick glance to Ivy, who gazed at them all with that too adult look on her face. I gave him a sharp look and Murphy swatted his arm hard. He looked apologetic and fell quiet. “Anyway, Dresden, Ivy just wanted to check on you and hang out with the cat, so we’re going to have to go. She’s got a meeting in Japan in about two hours, and we’ve got to go a few cities over to get to the right place to open the Way.” I nodded.

                “That’s alright. Give me a call if you get the time; you two aren’t in town nearly often enough.” Ivy gave Mister one last pat and then stretched up to give me a hug, which I accepted gratefully now that I didn’t have to worry about the cuts and stitches hurting at the slightest touch. They left shortly after and I went and I went into my room to take a quick shower and get a shirt on since neither of those things would kill me with the pain anymore.     

* * *

 

Murphy’s POV

                As soon as Harry was gone, I went into my own PI mode. Marcone faced it with cool indifference, one eyebrow arched just slightly, and he was trying to project openness without really showing it. Men like him were dangerous and it wouldn’t do for me to let him fool me with that little act. I sat carefully on the couch beside him, Mouse settling his massive head on my leg and Mister jumping up onto his lap to be petted.

                “Tell me what you’re really after. You lied about who you were, to all of us, and yet you claim you want to be his ‘friend’. You helped us save his life and now you’re in his house as if you own it and you’re giving him presents even though he’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. You’re going for something, and I don’t think it’s his employment like Harry thinks. Actually, I think Jared might have had it a little closer to right.” He smiled, kind and polite but not really friendly.

                “I must say that what I want is of no consequence to you. Simply let it be known that I wish no harm to come to him; perhaps, if it makes you feel better, you can simply know that my primary goal is currently to ensure that Vargassi knows that he is off limits. I’d rather he acknowledged that he was under my protection, of course, as that would make everything much easier, but if he does not, then I can manage just as well.” I didn’t know if this was funny or worrying, to be totally honest. I was sort of caught in the middle; it was funny because Harry managed to get himself involved with the strangest people and the strangest thing, and the fact that he had criminal overlords acting like petty five year olds over him was admittedly hilarious, but it was worrying because they were _criminal overlords._ They were, I knew, both men who were accustomed to getting what they wanted, and not having to fight for it. And when it came to Harry, they were fighting each other, but they were fighting him too. He’d never let himself be kept or looked after or protected by anyone without a fight.

                I didn’t know how the two of them would react to not having him jump into their arms and sign whatever they wanted him to sign and smile and be a good boy. I knew that they were dangerous, though. I knew that they could hurt him if he got too disobedient or too rambunctious. I was one of the few he trusted enough to know even a little about his past and about his fears, one of the few he trusted enough to allow to help protect him, to fight alongside him, and I took that seriously. I wasn’t going to let Marcone do anything to him, ever.

                “Marcone, I don’t know you, I’ll admit to that, but I do know Harry. I’ve known him since he was eighteen and fresh off the train here. He trusts me, and that’s not something many people can say. He’s been dealt a whole lot of shitty hands, and he always tells everyone that it’s ‘fine’ or that he’s ‘okay’ and usually it wasn’t and usually he isn’t. This is the only place he’s been in his life, beyond when he was with his dad, that he hasn’t had to call someone else Master, and he doesn’t want that to change. I don’t want you hurting him, Marcone; you say shit like he needs you, but he doesn’t. The less people like you he knows, the better. I want you to get out now and not come back. I don’t think that’s going to happen, though; Harry’s got that sort of effect on people sometimes. I want you to know, though, that if you ever do anything to hurt him, I’m going to kill you. I promised that I’d never let him get hurt again and I plan on keeping that promise.” He cocked his head and I could see him digesting the new information behind his eyes.

                “I’m glad that he has such good friends, but your worry is unfounded. I would not hurt him and I do not want to cage him. Although, perhaps it is best that I leave for today. After all, I can’t expect him to take such large steps all at once. Still yet, with familiarity, I believe that I will come to receive what I want. Have a nice evening, Ms. Murphy.” And so he stood and left, left like he’d never been there at all, and when Harry came back into the room he complained that the bastard still hadn’t taken the other shit he’d given him back. We spent the rest of the day together in his apartment, talking and laughing, but my thoughts were elsewhere. My thoughts were on John Marcone and his apparent plans and mysterious wants, my thoughts were on Vargassi and his blatant offers, my thoughts were my worry over my best friend. I almost didn’t want to leave that night, to tell the truth, but I ended up doing it because I knew that Jack would be back at my house by then, and I couldn’t stand the thought of making him spend the night by himself anymore. I wished, sometimes, that Harry would stop being so stubborn and move in with me or Michael for a little while, at least for long enough that he could afford to rent a nicer place, but to tell the truth, I couldn’t see that happening any time soon. Getting Harry to not be stubborn would probably take a parallel universe.

* * *

 

 Harry’s POV

                The next day brought two more packages, one from Vargassi (a new cooking pot made of fine metal, clean and shiny) and one from Marcone (a thick, soft sweater without any holes, one in my size that I could wear without looking like an idiot). I brought them both inside, but sat them in the corner so that I could return them whenever I got the chance. Neither of them came by for a visit, though, and I was at least happy about that. In exchange, though, I had to deal with a visitor that I didn’t even know.

                I opened my door after hearing a loud, confident knock, and on the other side stood a tall man with dark, wavy hair and eyes the color of storm clouds. He was pale and lean and unearthly handsome, an overly open, almost vapid smile on his lips. I noted that I’d seen him once before, the representative of the White Court who’d been at Mab’s disastrous party, but I had no idea why he would visit me now.

                “Harry?” he asked, being careful to keep his eyes blank and stupid, but I could see through the act with ease. White Court Vampires were anything but stupid; really they were among the most cunning of the courts, and this guy had told Mab that he was a Raith.

                “Yeah. Can I ask what I did to get a visit from a member of the White Court? I was pretty sure it was the Reds I pissed off, or have I gone colorblind?” He chuckled and shifted around a little nervously.

                “No, no. You didn’t… I’m not upset. About anything. At least not at you.” I blinked.

                “Okay,” I said slowly, dragging the ‘a’ sound out. “So, what are you doing here? Are you an emissary or something? Someone else recruit you to say they wanted to kill me? Which, I assume you’re pretty high class, since you got chosen to deliver a gift to Mab, so that would be kind of a waste.”

                “Can I come in? I don’t think I should say what I need to say from through a door.” Apparently he thought I was a total moron. Obviously. Otherwise why the hell would he think that I’d let a total stranger walk through my front door.

                “No? I have no idea who you are. You’re not getting through my wards.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which, if I’d done that, would’ve made it stand on end, but his just went right back to where it had been. Life is really unfair sometimes.

                “Look, Harry, my name is Thomas. Thomas Raith. I came here because… Harry, you’re my brother.” I shut the door and went back to my couch because psychotic White Court Vampires do not belong in my space. He started knocking again as soon as the door shut, and when I didn’t come, he yelled through the door. “Maggie LeFay! Margaret Gwendolyn LeFay! That’s our mother’s name!” Anyone could’ve figured that out; it was nothing special. “And your father was Malcolm Dresden, a stage magician!” Same there.

                “Leave!” I yelled back, but he didn’t.

                “I’ve looked for you for years, Harry! Just try to listen to me, please! You’ve got a silver pentacle, right? Our mother left it for you. She left me one to match; I’ve got it on right now. She left us both one so we’d know each other. Just open the door and let me show you. Let’s talk,” he said, and I so wanted to listen to him. I wanted to believe that he was my brother, my family. Hell’s Bells, I wanted to believe that I _had_ a family. They hadn’t found anyone once my father died, though, no potential blood. I found myself standing anyway, though, the desperate hope pulsing through my mind that maybe I did have family out there making me pull the door open.

                He stood there with the same hopeful look in his storm colored eyes, and I saw the pentacle he’d been speaking of clutched in his hand, pulled from where it had been hidden beneath his shirt.

                “Well? Talk fast,” I said, and he nodded.

                “Can I please come in?” I know it was stupid of me, but I let him. I don’t even really have a reason why I did it, to tell the truth; I just felt as if I had to. We didn’t even really look alike, I noted as I pulled the door shut behind him, and he took a seat on my couch.

                “Tell me why I should believe you, beyond the pentacle and beyond the names.” He stared down at his feet.

                “It’s hard to say. You’re a Wizard; Soul Gaze me. You’ll see it, we both will.” And I had to be the biggest moron on the planet because right then, I sat beside him, and I did it. I stared into his eyes and I fell into his soul.


	8. Chapter 8

                His soul was as white as Marcone’s was steel; there wasn’t a speck of dirt or grime to be found anywhere. To be honest, it seemed almost fake, scoured clean, as if he were expecting visitors and his house was filthy. The place was entirely empty, too, but for the center where a caricature of Thomas stood in front of a mirror. The mirror didn’t reflect anything, though, and I knew that couldn’t be right. I took a step closer and the white floor flashed into a checkerboard of black and white marble. Another step and the perfect silence shattered with the sound of thunder. One more step and I finally saw what he was trying to hide: the reflection in the mirror was that of a monster.

                It was enormous and slavering, with eyes like chrome and too-large teeth. It swayed and shifted like smoke and the image of Thomas appeared to be fighting against stepping closer to it, to the mirror, fighting hard and snarling and screaming. I reached out for him because he was suffering and I wanted to help because no one deserved that (sometimes people tell me I’m too soft to be a PI. I don’t buy it) but my hand was suddenly blocked by another solid form.

                “Now isn’t the time,” a woman said. She was tall, maybe an inch or three off from being my height, with dark, nearly black hair and blue eyes. Her dress made her look even taller, long and straight as it was, and made of something soft-looking and red. She smiled at me and I felt my heart twinge because she was so familiar. She was exactly what my dad had described. She was my mom. I felt my eyes get a little wet but I blinked the tears back.

                “Mom? Mom, what are you… how are you here? Is he…” She nodded.

                “He is your brother; my eldest son. Before my death, I left this imprint of myself upon each of your souls, so that you might find one another. It seems he has done the majority of the work, but here you are. I see that your bond with him calls for you to save him, but he cannot yet be saved. Only helped, and that must be done in the natural world. My child, you’ve grown up so well. You could never understand how proud you’ve made me. The both of you.”

                “How? I don’t have any other family. He’s suffering.”

                “He is fighting his nature, and he will continue to do so. He must; to do otherwise would nearly kill him. He is certainly my son, just as you are. You can both help each other, however. Stay together, for me and for each other. I wish that I could tell you more.” I wished she could too, but the supernatural is weird. Strange rules govern everything, and I knew that my mother wouldn’t follow them unless they were truly strict and truly important because I knew that I wouldn’t either. I smiled and she held out her arms and held me tightly. Her grip was strong, for a woman of her size. I had to fight harder to hold back the tears as I drifted out of my… my brother’s soul. At that moment, I was glad that I was enough of an idiot to let him into my house, and he seemed glad of that too because he suddenly had his arms thrown around me. I guess that’s okay, though, because I did the same to him moments later. 

                “You’re my brother,” I said reverently, “I have _family._ ” I wanted to say more. I wanted to say that I wasn’t alone, that I finally had something permanent and unbreakable, but I couldn’t quite make the words come out without risking tears.

                “Yeah,” he said, equally reverent, and I had to laugh.

                “I have a brother and I don’t even know what his name is.” He blinked slowly and dropped his death grip on me.

                “Thomas Raith,” he said, and I held out my hand to shake.

                “Harry Dresden.” He shook my hand and that was that; we were brothers. We were family. We were… I didn’t have the words, I was so happy. He clapped me on the shoulder and smiled (he looked unfairly good, all white teeth and perfect hair, like some clothing model), but then his face sobered and he leaned back against my couch, crossed his arms and everything.

                “Your soul… Harry, what happened to you? I saw… there was a man. I know mom died when you were born, but what about your dad? I know he did stage magic and all that; I figured as much out with a little research, but I don’t know anything else.” He deserved to know. He was my brother; if anyone deserved that knowledge, it was him. I continued knowing that I was stupid for trusting him so easily (he was a Vampire, brother or not. He could kill me in a second if he wanted and I wouldn’t be able to stop him) but blood was blood. I’d never had any before, and I wasn’t going to run him off by acting how I normally did, by keeping a safe distance between us. I’d finally found a scrap of kin and I wasn’t throwing it away.

                “He died when I was six. An aneurism, the doctors said. They couldn’t find anywhere for me to go, so they sent me to foster care. I got passed around a lot, in the beginning. Mostly minor behavioral stuff in the beginning, but then, when I was eight or nine, my magic came in. The parents started thinking I was possessed, or crazy, or any number of other things. They weren’t always the nicest about it; some of them would hit me, one of them tried to drown me once, more than one brought me to a church or something for an exorcism, and some of the priests got a little rough with me. It wasn’t that bad, though; I didn’t have it the worst by far. I got adopted at ten by a Wizard named Justin DuMorne, and he became my Master.”

                “Master,” Thomas asked, and I nodded.

                “Yeah. He decided to make me his Apprentice, teach me magic, all that. He was… he was good to me at first. I never called him dad, but I got to call him Uncle, most days. He was so nice at the start. It got worse, though, weird things that I should’ve noticed but didn’t. Just, steadily worse. It got faster when he adopted someone else, a girl named Elaine Mallory. He started keeping us away from other kids, other people. We started relying only on him and each other; that’s what he wanted, though. He Enthralled her and tried to do the same to me, but I ran. I made a bad deal to get the power to kill him, and that’s… that’s what I did. I burned the house with him inside. I thought I’d burned Elaine too, for a while, but it turns out she got out too. She’s living in California now. Anyway, I’m sure you know about the White Council; they tried to behead me for that because DuMorne had been well respected. A Warden and all, you know? A man named McCoy spoke up for me, though, and saved my life. I lived with him in Missouri for until I turned eighteen and became a full-fledged Wizard, then I came here.” He nodded and looked like he wanted to touch me again, to make sure I was real and there and alive. I let him because it was a comfort to me too.

                “You’re not telling the whole story.”

                “I’m telling enough; all the important parts. The details don’t matter, really. What about you? I can’t imagine your… you fight, all the time.”

                “I guess I do,” he said, and carefully pulled me to lean against him. I let him; his skin was icy cold. “My father was Lord Raith, obviously, and equally obviously, I got the White Court gene from him. I never wanted it, though, and he never wanted me. Or any sons, really; he killed all of them but me. I was too clever to let him get me, though. He’s hated me ever since I refused to die for him. The White Court isn’t… family isn’t the same there, not for him. He sees my sisters as toys for him to play with and me as a threat to that. I never want to end up like him; I hate him, so I fight. It hurts, though. I get… Hungry. Really, really Hungry. I only manage because of my… because of a girl named Justine. I finally found you, though. My little brother. My only one. I loved you ever since I found out you existed, you know that? I always wanted a baby brother when I was a kid. My sister Lara was the one who told me about you, though. She loves me in her own way, and she’s been getting frustrated with the hold our father has on her. I don’t think he’s going to last much longer on the throne.”

                “I always wished that I had a brother too,” I said because that was all there was to say, and we laughed as I let myself relax against his shoulder. He did the same against mine. The sweetness of family filled the air thickly, like sugar, like molasses. I felt bemused at the strangeness, but so, so, painfully happy all the same. I’d gotten to see Ivy and she’d healed my newest wounds. I had enough money to live on. Business was good. I had amazing friends. I had _family._ I wondered if things were starting to look up for me. I could only hope so. And then _someone knocked on my fucking door._ You might think that this is a little bit of an overreaction, but I came really, really close to screaming. I stood up stiffly and marched over, then yanked the door open hard. Marcone smiled at me, and then passed me a bouquet of flowers. Thomas stared at him blankly, and since I had just pretty much given up, I dropped the wards and gestured for the bastard to come in. He did so, and I closed the door before going and dropping the flowers in my kitchen sink.

                “Hello, Harry. Is whatever the little one did yesterday still effective at healing you?” I cocked my head.

                “Yeah? I mean, she’s the Archive, so her spells don’t break.”

                “I believe you called her Ivy yesterday.”

                “Yeah. Archive. Archivy. Ivy. Sounded good to me, when I came up with it.”

                “You named her? Is she yours?”

                “I really wish you’d stop assuming that every kid I associate with is mine, especially considering I don’t have any kids. No; she never had a name, before she met me. She’s the Archive; repository for all human knowledge, at least as long as it’s been written down. That spirit has been passed down through the females in the same family for… a really long time, but it only passes when the previous bearer dies, so the new one is usually older. Ivy’s mom committed suicide, though, so Ivy got it way too early. She ended up hiring Kincaid to look after her, and I met her about a year ago.” I didn’t know why I was telling him that, honestly. It wasn’t like it was any of his business anyway. I guess it was just because Thomas (my brother, Hell’s Bells, I had a brother) was there and I wanted to at least pretend like I was hospitable.

                “Ah, well, it’s good that you’re so kind to her, the poor thing. Children shouldn’t be forced to grow up so quickly, much less grow up without a name.” Well, would you look at that? Seemed like we could agree on something after all.

                “Hey, you’re not a heartless lying bastard all the way through! Isn’t that magical? How about you get out of my house now that you’ve gotten to prove that?” He only stepped defiantly further inside, closer to me, and finally caught sight of Thomas sprawling across my couch. Something like anger, but cold, seeped into his face, and anything in his eyes that might’ve even loosely been construed as warmth got leeched away.

                “Who is that?” he asked me, sounding as if he were speaking of the slimiest slime ball on the face of the planet. I assumed he was just upset that Thomas’ suit was nicer than his.

                “He’s my-,” Thomas was up in seconds, his arm draping itself over my shoulder and shocking me into silence.

                “I’m his new friend,” he said, placing peculiar emphasis on the last word and giving Marcone a weird look, and oh, yeah, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to blab about my brand new brother to the known criminal element who very probably wanted to kill me. Or own me. Which, when I think about it, may as well be the same thing. Anyway, Marcone was showing Thomas this frankly murderous look, like, dagger eyes and everything. I was pretty sure that more dead men than living had seen him show that look, and I wondered if I’d have to bundle Thomas into police custody already. Rawlins did sort of owe me a favor, after all; I was sure he could manage some mafia protection for me, after what I’d done for him.

                “Is that so?” Johnny asked, “I believe I saw you at a particular party not too long ago. I don’t recall you having many issues when he was threatened whilst there.” I rolled my eyes.

                “He’d have been stupid if he did try to help me then. More things than Nicodemus and Bianca want me dead, for various reasons, and a neutral party isn’t the time to deal with that. You don’t show more than a passing interest in anyone at those parties unless you want them dead later on.” Thomas nodded in agreement.

                “That woman, Mab, called him White Court. What does that mean?”

                “It means that I’m a vampire from the White Court. The Prince, as a matter of fact.” He took his arm from my shoulder and pushed me back a little so he could create a wall between Marcone and me. He then proceeded to bow gallantly, courtly and polite, probably trained from childhood just like I had been. “Thomas Raith, son of Lord Raith. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

                “I had thought that the days of Lords and Ladies were long passed.” I couldn’t see his face anymore but the words were bland and dull. When Thomas spoke next, his own voice was a match, but his had an undercurrent of something like a private joke, a tease.

                “Maybe in your world, but not ours. Empty Night, his crowd still speaks Latin, and mine’s worse; we use Etruscan.”

                “As if he’s got any right to talk anyway. He calls himself a gentleman,” I grumbled.

                “That is entirely the papers, I assure you.” Thomas laughed just a little, and I still wondered how someone who shared my blood could be so polite.

                “Well, they might be right. He’s got a little royal blood in him somewhere, if I had to guess. It’s way down the line, though. Probably on the mother’s side. Looks like a little changeling blood too. Maybe it’s fate, him getting involved in… how do you Italians say it again, Marcone? Cosa nostra. This thing of ours. Obviously someone in the family has gotten kinky with magic before. I guess he’s just trying to carry on the tradition, huh? So, was it your mom or your grandma who fucked a fairy? Or was it further back than that? For it to still be in your blood, it couldn’t be more than great great grandmother.” I expected Marcone to speak angrily, after that, maybe pull out the traces of the accent I’d heard in that jazz club, but if anything he only sounded blander when he next spoke.

                “Harry, I will see you again soon. Perhaps by then you’ll be keeping better company, sweetheart.” I was going to yell at him for calling me that (why had he done it anyway? Was he trying to insult my masculinity or something?) but he ran out too quickly and I couldn’t. Thomas turned and dropped back onto my couch as soon as the door shut, and I followed him.

                “Thomas,” I finally asked when it was quiet for a few moments, “do you have any idea who you just pissed off?” He grinned.

                “Gentleman Johnny Marcone. Thanks for cluing me in, by the way, with that whole gentleman spiel.” I sighed.

                “Okay. Okay. Do you not see anything wrong with pissing that particular scumbag off in this particular city?” He looked a little confused, cocked his head to one side like Mouse did when I was being a particularly large dumbass.

                “Nope. Should I?” Laughter spilled from my mouth because yeah, he was definitely my brother after all, and the stupid was obviously genetic.

                “Nah,” I finally said, “You’re probably fine.” And for the rest of the day we went on like that, learning and talking and smiling, basking in the glow of brotherhood, until he had to leave and go back to his own home with promises that we’d spend a day together soon.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                There is an outside possibility that I drove just slightly too fast on my way to Hendricks’ apartment, but really I was almost certainly fine. After all, not a single police officer bothered chasing after me. I pulled into Hendricks’ parking lot and walked up to his room, but I did not run, and my knock was admittedly urgent, but it was not frantic.

                “Boss?” Hendricks asked, and I shouldered by him and into his apartment.

                “You said you’d spoken to Ms. Gard about magic, correct?”

                “A little,” he said, slow and careful.

                “Has she mentioned the White Court to you?” He still seemed a little worried, a little confused, but obviously he’d decided to go with it for me because he answered.

                “Yeah, a few times. Why?”

                “Explain them to me.”

                “They’re like… they’re vampires, but they eat emotions, not blood. They gain the life force instead of the life.”

                “What sort of emotions?”

                “Gard made it sound like it was split up by house. Like, some houses like one emotion, others like another.” Hendricks has a way with explanations, truly he does, but at times he needs quite a bit of prompting to get the answer you actually want out of him, most often due to him worrying that whatever he was saying would upset me somehow.

                “And what sort does House Raith prefer?” Once more he looked a little lost, a little nervous.

                “The Raith’s? They eat lust. They’re at the head of the Court, too, so most of the minor houses follow their lead.” Lust. And didn’t that make perfect sense? He’d hinted at as much, the damned vampire, had shown just how simply separate I was from Harry’s world. Really it was no wonder that he was so uninterested in me; compared to most of those he knew, I had to be a bore, weak and fleeting. I’d have to up my status in the supernatural world, I decided. If I could do that, then I could better garner his favor again.

                “Call Gard,” I said, “I need her to help me gain more standing in magical circles.” Hendricks did as much without complain, and an hour later Gard, Vadderung, the Archive (or Ivy, I supposed. Really, I rather preferred that), and someone called the Merlin were all heading to my office to see if we could work something out. Hendricks drove me there to meet them, silent and perhaps a bit annoyed, nervous as to whatever I was getting into. On any other day, for any other reason, perhaps I’d have been worried as well.

* * *

 

                My lobby was full when I arrived, but at least that meant that it was quick work getting everyone into my office and getting the meeting started.

                Little Ivy climbed into one of the large chairs in front of my desk while an older, sharp-faced man with eyes the color of ice chips who I assumed was the Merlin sat in the other, and Vadderung stood between them with his arms crossed. Kincaid (who gave me a look of something caught between distrust and disgust), Hendricks, and Gard all stood watch in the back of the room, by the door, and I settled myself neatly in my own chair.

                “Shall we begin?” I asked, and Ivy gave me a small smile, her hands crossed primly in her lap.

                “Of course, Mr. Marcone. I believe that your best option is to sign onto the Accords as a Baron. That will give you dominion over Chicago territory, although there are quite a lot of responsibilities involved with such a move. You must understand as much before you make so large of a decision.” The older man sneered.

                “Doing such a thing would be impossible no matter his understanding, Archive. For a mere mortal to become a Baron is unprecedented.” He sounded smooth and faintly British, cold calculation making up the bulk of his tone. The little girl smiled again, sugar sweet, but her eyes were old, her eyes were _ancient._

                “Do not think me rude for saying so, Honored Merlin, but I believe that all of the things we now see as precedents were once unprecedented. Already he performs many of the duties of a Baron; he keeps the area safe and protects those citizens worth protecting while punishing those who are not. All he needs to do the same with the magical elements here is the authority to back up his claims. Would him being the Baron not resolve many of your worries anyway, Merlin? About Harry Dresden?” The man’s already thin lips went thinner, until they were hardly visible. I wondered what he had to do with Harry Dresden, my Harry.

                “This man is a criminal himself. Do you expect me to believe that he will curb the Warlock?” Warlock? Ivy looked just a little put out, and Kincaid was fingering something under his coat. I knew what Warlock meant, of course, but I didn’t understand why it seemed to upset the two of them so. Perhaps it meant something different in the real world, in real magic, than it did in storybooks.

                “If Harry Dresden attempted to do harm to his city, then yes, I believe that he would stop him.”

                “What reason do you have to believe that?”

                “He has always done what was necessary to protect his city. I see no reason why that would change were he Baron. If anything, it would only make him more passionate.”

                “I will have your promise, then. Harry Dresden is a notorious Warlock, a murderer who escaped my hand by the barest of degrees. If you will give me your word that should his death become necessary you will help us to facilitate it, then I will sign for you to become the Baron of Chicago under the Accords.” Harry a murderer? I could hardly believe that; he was one of the noblest men I’d ever met. Murder was for men like me, men with dirty hands and minds, not men like Harry. I turned my gaze to Ivy and she appeared to feel the same, but she gave me a minute nod nonetheless, so I assumed I was meant to agree to his terms. She had seemed to care for him, in his apartment; I trusted her judgment.

                “I give my word.” The Merlin smiled, wan and pale, and Ivy slid something that appeared to be a contract from a little bag at her feet. She first placed her on signature on it, pretty, scrolling letters too intricate for a child of her age spelling out the Archive, and then she passed it to the Merlin, who did the same except he wrote Arthur Langtry. After that, Vadderung bent forward and copied down his own name in neat, thick script.

                “I declare thee, John Marcone, Baron of Chicago. Thou are hereby responsible for the protection of this territory and its people, and punishment for those under the dominion of the Unseelie Accords who do break its binding word shall be enacted by thee. If thou shalt break the Laws of the Accords thou self, then thou punishment shall be most severe and given to thee by those most mighty: the Queens of Winter and of Summer. Do thou accept your new position and your new duties?

                “Yes.” She nodded.

                “Alright. I have attached a copy of the Accords to your contract; please read it so that you will better know what is permitted and what is not. If there is a meeting that you are expected to attend, you will be contacted by myself or by one of the others who has signed you into your position.” Langtry stood as soon as she was done speaking and left without a word, black robes sweeping behind him, and Vadderung and Gard followed shortly behind. Ivy, however, remained seated, and Kincaid stayed in the back of the room with Hendricks. She was silent until the hall outside of my office was equally silent, and then she spoke again. “I assume you are curious about his words related to Harry?”

                “Of course I am; Harry is no murderer.” She smiled, her eyes a bit downcast, and she opened her mouth to speak again, but Kincaid did it for her.

                “The White Council are a group of cruel, lying dicks who wouldn’t know the truth if it bit them on their collective ass. Harry killed one of their favorites, a former Warden, and they nearly beheaded him for it. A respected Council member spoke for him, though, so they let him walk on the condition that the one that spoke would train him and kill him if he put a toe out of line.” Ivy sighed, her smile fond and still far, far too old for her.

                “This is a story for Harry to tell, Kincaid.”

                “Dresden doesn’t tell that story and you know that as well as I do. His Warden’s sword terrifies him too much to speak against those bastards.”

                “It’s still rude to speak of it without his permission; you yourself would not know of it if I had not told you.” I watched them silently until that point, and while Ivy was berating him for speaking too much, I still didn’t know what had happened.

                “I’m afraid I don’t understand. Miss Ivy, if Harry does not speak of any of this, how do you know of it? And what exactly occurred?”

                “I am the Archive. I have knowledge of everything that has ever been written, and Harry’s trial as well as the records of it and the cause for it were all written down at one point or another. I spoke of it to Kincaid because of a nightmare I had wherein Harry was truly killed. Beyond this, I can only tell you that Harry killed that man in preservation of his own life and his own freedom, as well as the life and freedom of another young Wizard. That man deserved to die, and it was wrong of the Council to try to murder Harry for his death. The White Council is corrupt, and has been for many years; they did not want Harry to continue to live because they are prejudiced against his blood and because he has much power. They did not want him to live because he killed a bad man who they were too blind to see was evil. That, however, is all that I will say on the matter. If Harry wants to tell you the remainder of the story, he may. It is not my place to do so.” I wanted to know. I wanted to know who that man was. I wanted to know if he was the reason why Harry had been so distraught, had cried not to be left alone, when he was rescued from Nicodemus.

                “What if I need to know?” She laughed, high and sweet, as she hopped down from the chair and moved to stand by Kincaid.

                “Then you are clever enough to obtain the information on your own. I will not betray his trust more than I already have by calling for the Merlin to be one of your Signatories and by telling you what I have.”

                “What will I do if the Merlin asks me to fulfill that promise? I couldn’t kill him for protecting himself.” She cocked his head, soft blue eyes sparkling.

                “Then do not, Mr. Marcone. You are your own man, correct? That promise means nothing under the Accords; it was not sworn thrice. I would have thought that the Merlin would have known better, but I believe that the fact that you are but a mortal threw him a bit; you aren’t under the same compulsion of threes that beings from the Nevernever are, and so I suppose he felt it was unnecessary.  Nevertheless, you are under no obligation to fulfill that promise, and if the Merlin tries to retaliate against you then I shall fight at your side, as shall my bodyguard.” I blinked slowly, and then offered her my best smile.

                “Thank you, Ivy.” She curtsied politely and then Kincaid took her by the hand. They left together without another word and I took a deep breath. I wondered how long I should wait before I boasted to the damned vampire that my status had been raised above his own, how long I should wait before I spoke with Harry again. I decided on two days, later in the afternoon so that he’d have time to awaken on his own and so I wouldn’t be intruding. A smile, self-satisfied and perhaps a bit smug, flitted across my face, but when I saw Hendricks, his own gaze was marred with nerves.

                Normally that would have set my own nerves to jangling, but on that day, it didn’t. I’d proven to myself, if not to Harry, that I could exist with ease on the same playing field despite not having any magical talent of my own. I’d proven that I could stand fairly at his side, help him fight and defend him as needed. I’d proven that I wouldn’t be a burden to him, that I deserved his acknowledgement. Now it was only matter of showing the same to him, and of once more creating with him what I’d had when he had met me in the 1914. From there it would be simple to create what I wanted, to deepen the bond between us into romance. I kicked up my feet and stretched out in my chair; let my eyes drift close for a few moments. Hendricks clapped me on the shoulder once, hard, and squeezed, but then he left the room. I let myself enjoy my moment for a few minutes longer, but then I had to turn my attention to the work I’d been neglecting ever since I truly spoke with and met Harry for the first time. I still, however, felt my concentration drifting back to him often. I wondered how I’d fallen so far and not noticed, but I felt too wonderful to really care if I found the answer.

* * *

 

Harry’s POV

                Thomas came by early the next morning and I don’t want to admit to how excited I was about that. Still, can you really blame me for being happy? I’d just found a scrap of family, and he didn’t hate me. He wanted to spend time with me; he wanted to get to know me. It was like a million of my dreams all rolled up into one and coming true.

                We decided to go out to breakfast together shortly after he arrived, and when we climbed into his car (it was a little black thing that looked sort of like Murphy’s, but newer and nicer and still equipped with a roof) he laughed at me when I told him I didn’t know how to drive. He told me he’d teach me after the laughter subsided, though, and that made me smile. No one had offered to teach me how to drive before. He saw my look and looked a little worried, told me that it wasn’t a big deal and that he’d taught most of his younger sisters, and I just grinned and told him that I thought it would be fun, that I wanted to. We pulled into a parking lot to a nice restaurant and walked in together, and a nice lady seated us near the back.

                “I’ll pay for you, okay? Since it was my idea to come out.” I smiled and nodded.

                “Thanks,” I said, soft as I looked over the menu, and when the lady came back I ordered basically the cheapest edible thing I could find. Thomas raised his eyebrows as he ordered, but at least he didn’t call me on it, so that was something.

                “What was Marcone doing in your house yesterday anyway? And why did he bring you flowers? Is there a… thing going on there?” I spluttered and gaped. A thing? A thing with me and Marcone? I worried suddenly that my brother was insane.

                “No! He just… you know, sends me presents and follows me around and stuff. He wants me to work for him; Vargassi’s been doing the same thing.” Thomas didn’t look convinced.

                “Harry, do you really think I’m going to judge you if there’s something going on? I don’t care, I promise. I want you to be honest with me. I mean, it’d take me some work to like him, but I could try for you.” I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and pointer finger and sighed at the ceiling.

                “There is nothing going on between me and Marcone. I hate him, okay? He lied to me when we met, tried to make me think he was all innocuous to get me to show him what I could do, and I fell for it for a while. Vargassi found out about me too, and after that they both started pulling that shit. I haven’t been able to get them to stop yet.” Thomas nodded, looking thoughtful and distantly angry.

                “I’ll help deal with him,” he said, and I had to smile again. I’d never felt family before now, not really, not that I could remember clearly, but I knew that this, this protection, this affection, was it. We talked about nothing and everything while we ate, music and books and animals and people, and after that we went to a few shops near my apartment, walked through my city, by the lake and under twisted streetlights, and we talked some more. It was nearly dusk when we got back to my apartment and went inside, and to tell the truth, I was hard pressed to remember a time when I’d been so basely happy. I got a little shock when I went inside, though, because my apartment was unusually populated when I went inside.

                Michael sat on my couch and Murphy was pacing restlessly from the kitchen to the living room and back again. She was right in my face as soon as she saw me, menacing with her five feet of height and her pixie blonde hair, and even Thomas looked vaguely horrified when she started yelling at me.

                “Damn it, Dresden, what the hell do you think you were doing? You just got home from being _kidnapped and tortured_ by a _Fallen Angel_ and you think it’s a good idea to leave your house with whoever the hell that is without telling anyone that you’re doing it? You are the most hard-headed bastard that I’ve ever met, you know that?” I blinked, rapidly trying to catch up because an angry Murphy is not a Murphy one should trifle with.

                “Um,” I tried, and she stabbed a finger sharply into my chest, hard enough that I was pretty sure a little bruise would be left in the shape of her fingertip. “I’m sorry?” I tried again.

                “You’re sure as hell going to be, Dresden. I could kill you for worrying me like this.” I coughed, and Thomas seemed unsure about whether or not to pull her off of me or cackle at me.

                “Look, I’ve got an explanation, okay? Just… come on, let’s sit down.” She was still glaring at me, but she at least did it. “Thomas, can you sit too? I’ll take my chair.” For the first time, everyone in the room listened to me, but it was sort of a hollow victory because even Michael was looking kind of angry with me. “Okay, so I’m just going to come out and say this: Thomas is my older brother.” It was silent, but Thomas was nodding and Michael was staring suspiciously.

                “Harry, you know what he is. He could be influencing you to believe that.” I shook my head.

                “No. I saw his soul, Michael. Our mother was there. He has my pentacle. He’s my brother, I know it.” Murphy had turned her glare to him instead of me, and shameful as that sounds, it relieved me greatly.

                “I’ve met White Court before; I don’t like you and I don’t trust you, but I do trust Harry. I trust that he knows what he’s talking about. I also know how much he’s always wanted family. Michael and I, and parts of our families, have because a pseudo-family for him, but I know it isn’t the same. I’m not going to take you from him, and I’m not going to complain, but if you ever betray the trust that that stupid ass has already given to you, I’ve got no problem killing another vampire.” Thomas raised his head, calm and clear, looking too perfect where he sat.

                “I’ve always wanted a brother, and I love my siblings more than anything. Miss, there isn’t much that I’m willing to die for, but my siblings are on the list.” Murphy gave him one more hard, appraising look, but finally nodded.

                “Alright. You’re still in the doghouse, though, Dresden.” I snorted.

                “I wouldn’t expect less of you, Murph. How about you, Michael? Have you found enough love in that endless heart of yours to forgive me?” He laughed, low and rumbling, the sound like gnashing stones.

                “Certainly. I must say that I still consider you to be far too feckless with your own life, however.” I sighed and raked a hand harshly throw my hair. One day I was going to remember to get it cut when I went out.

                “Of course you do. I wouldn’t expect less of you either, Michael.” Thomas snickered as he stood and dragged me up onto my feet and into a hug.

                “I like your friends a lot more than I like the mobster. It’s nice to know that you’ve had such good people looking after you when I couldn’t.” I settled my hand lightly on his shoulder and squeezed softly, my smile softening to the barest curl of my lips, and when I spoke I tried my hardest to infuse all the warmth I felt into my words.

                “I’m glad for them too. Maybe we can all do something together soon.”

                “Of course,” Thomas said, a playful sneer on his face, and I had to admit that he did haughty like nobody’s business. "I’ll try to see you tomorrow too, Harry. I love you, baby brother.” My eyes burned and I grabbed him into another hard hug because who really cares about something stupid like masculine pride?

                “I love you too.” I murmured it into his neck because I was scared that my voice would crack if I said it much louder. Murphy and Michael were both smiling when I let go of him again. It was strange, I decided, that I’d started to love him so quickly, but I had. I loved him, my brave, clever brother, my only family, and the happiness of that realization trickled down my body, tingling in my fingertips and toes. I shook my head to clear those cobwebs and shared faster, decidedly less emotionally charged goodbyes with Michael and Murphy before they all left and I went to bed.

* * *

 

Thomas’ POV

                When I got home, the guards wouldn’t let me through the gate, and to tell the truth, I’d been expecting something like that from the moment I said three words to Harry. I hadn’t expected it to be so soon, though; I’d thought that I’d have time to find a boardinghouse to stay in. Apparently not.

                “Hey, what the hell?” I asked the guards, and they stared at me with empty, blank eyes. They were Enthralled, I knew that; mostly by Lara. I assumed they’d been with her recently, from the hazed look in their eyes.

                “Lord Raith has disowned you. You have been consorting with the kine as you would a friend.”

                “Can I at least get my stuff?”

                “It will be delivered to you. You will not step foot in your father’s house again, and his name is no longer your name. You also no longer have access to the family’s money, but he has kindly said that you may keep your vehicle. However, he has said that if you wish to befriend the kine, you may live among them and deny your nature all you like.” I gritted my teeth, climbed back into my car, and drove off in something like a rage, aimless for a while, but then I realized that I was driving back to Harry’s.

                I didn’t know why; he was bad off, I knew that, and his room was crowded as it was, but… it’d just be for a while, right? And then I’d leave, get out of his hair, all that. I knocked loudly with my knuckles, and finally I heard him stumble around inside and pull the door open. His angry look (I guess he was expecting someone else) faded to mere shock.

                “Thomas?” he asked, wide eyed and kind, and I hadn’t expected him to be so… different. A doe in the woods despite what he’d seen and done. I liked the change; my baby brother, my trusting, wonderful baby brother.

                “My father disowned me.” He ushered me inside in seconds and if I hadn’t needed the charity just then I’d have berated him for the idiotic move.

                “Hell’s Bells, what for?”

                “He hates me, like I said. Me meeting you was just the excuse he needed to get rid of me, even if this is less permanent than he’d like. I hate to ask this, Harry, but can I stay with you for a little while? Not long, I promise, just long enough for me to get a job and enough money to find my own place.”

                “Of course! Let me get some blankets, okay? You can have my couch for as long as you need it.” And so he did. It was weirdly easy where none of my interactions had been before; the White Court didn’t do easy. They did trickery and backstabbing and lies and not _this,_ not simple affection and gooey tar eyes and smiles like firelight. The blankets he’d gotten me, heavy, warm quilts that smelled faintly of wood smoke, felt far better than the silk sheets I’d had in my father’s mansion. He gave me another smile. “Is this okay? I know it’s not the Ritz or anything, but it’s my best,” he said, and I laughed quietly.

                “It’s perfect. I can’t say how happy this makes me,” I said, and that was the truth. I’d never imagined that I’d get a world like this, a whole new universe torn open for me to explore, one that mimicked the mortal life I’d always envied. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was home. Harry told me goodnight and wandered back into his own bedroom, and I could hear it creak when he sat on it even through the door. Home; I liked the way that sounded.

* * *

 

                When Harry and I awoke the next morning (close to the same time, which was actually pretty strange, now that I think about it) there was a pile of stuff, my clothes and my books and my knick knacks, sitting outside his door, and a man I didn’t know, one with big brown puppy dog eyes and a broad, flat face, knocking loudly. Harry stumbled in his attempts to open the door, but caught himself on the frame as he smiled at the man.

                “Hey, Mickey,” he said, and I supposed that this was another one of his friends. I walked over and propped myself lazily on his shoulder, the jacket and shirt I hadn’t bothered to remove the previous night wrinkled and clinging to me uncomfortably. Something like relief filled those puppy eyes, and his back, previously stiff and awkward looking, went loose and slouched.

                “Harry,” he breathed, “I thought you’d gotten kicked out or something.” Harry laughed.

                “Nah, Mrs. S loves me too much. Besides, I paid my rent this month. That stuff is… is that all yours, Thomas? Stones, where am I going to put all that?” he mumbled, trailing off at the end as he began talking more to himself than either of us. The guy, Mickey, stared at me, and I saw… oh, Empty Night, that was too good! He had a crush on my baby brother, and now he thought I was… ah, it was too funny! I decided I may as well fuck with him a little, like I had the Marcone bastard (who Harry apparently thought was only after him in a business sense after the asshole sent flowers, of all things). I leaned against Harry a little more heavily and turned up my charm just a smidge, then settled my hand on his wrist familiarly.

                “Yeah, but don’t worry about unpacking it all. It’ll be fine as is, for now.” Harry nodded, and bent down to pick up the top box. Mickey stopped him with a hand and a small smile.

                “Let me help out, okay?” Well, wasn’t that just so sweet? He only wanted Harry to be happy, even if it wasn’t with him. I let go of Harry’s arm, pitying the poor guy just a little, and then decided not to torture him anymore; his own thoughts were doing enough of that for him. Besides, he didn’t seem like a bad guy, not really. Not like the Marcone fuck; he wanted Harry happy, yeah, but only at his own side. I’d seen that well enough the first time I met him, and I really was going to have to deal with him sometime soon. My little brother deserved better. I felt a little like giggling again, because it was just like I was looking after my little sisters again, just like the first times I’d met any of their boyfriends. It brought back fond memories, really, and it was hard to resist giggling like a child. Harry smiled again.

                “Thanks, Mickey. You can just set that stuff by the couch, I guess. You want something to drink? I have coffee, I know, and water. I’ve got soft drinks for the first time in a month, too.”

                “A glass of water would be good,” he said, hauling up a big stack of the boxes and stepping in just seconds after Harry pulled his wards down. He had everything inside within about a half an hour, and didn’t bother staying long after he gulped down his water. I guessed he didn’t want to intrude, and the heartbroken look on his face as he left almost made me feel bad. Still, the rest of the day was uneventful, mostly just made up of me and Harry finding places to stick my things, taking breaks to eat or talk or do any number of other things. The next day, though, that was just a load of fun. I’m being sarcastic, if you can’t tell.

* * *

 

                The morning was the same as the previous day, easy and calm, but the afternoon brought Marcone to our (I liked the way that sounded. I’d never really gotten to say ‘our’ anything before) door. Harry at least didn’t let him in today, though, and for a change of pace I let him prop himself up on me.

                “Marcone? Again, really? Stars, what do I have to do to get rid of you?” Marcone was staring at me more than listening to him.

                “He is still here?” Harry blinked and turned his wide owl eyes to me, then back to Marcone.

                “He lives here now.” And Marcone, for the first time, was struck dumb. My satisfaction was probably palpable.

                “Is that so,” he finally asked, slow and calculating.

                “Yeah. And we’re still unpacking, so if you could go, that would be awesome.” Slowly, sedately, Marcone nodded and stepped back.

                “Of course. My apologies for the intrusion. I suppose I will see you another day.” And then he was gone. Well, that was unusually easy. I’d figured have to do way more than lay on Harry a little to get him to leave off. Oh well; I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I let it be. Harry shut the door and we continued on with our regularly scheduled day.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                This was more serious than I’d thought; I’d certainly have to up my game, obviously. I’d have to get Hendricks to start digging up dirt on Raith, secrets that could be ‘coincidentally’ revealed to Harry to make him hate the creature, make him distrustful of him.

                Raith was fleeting anyway, really; a vapid pretty boy who could never hold a man like Harry’s interest for long. I would only be speeding up the inevitable if I did anything. He was temporary, he’d be short lived, but I wouldn’t be. I was in it for the long haul, I was playing for the end prize, I wanted forever. I’d be permanent. I stood up a little straighter as I walked back to my car, the contract proclaiming me Baron heavy in my inside jacket pocket, and I wondered how best to reveal my increase in status to Harry. Perhaps I’d have him out for dinner one day soon. Plans flitted through my head as Mr. Hendricks drove me back to my home, and while it seemed that Mr. Raith had won the battle, I was countless steps ahead of him, and every ending to this un-proclaimed war that I could see had me as the victor. He wouldn’t get to keep that smug smirk on his face for long.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry’s POV

                I should’ve known, after I met Thomas, after he moved in, after I felt so happy, that it wouldn’t last. My life doesn’t work that way; it’s one thing after another with me, one apocalypse following right on the heels of another, and it’s only when I’m lucky that I get to catch a drink and a laugh in between. I guess I should explain, huh?

                Murphy and Michael were gone. Not on vacation or out of town gone, but _gone._ Fallen off the face of the earth gone, and I was terrified, terrified that they were dead because my tracking spells weren’t working and they weren’t at their respective homes and… I needed to calm down, like Thomas had been telling me.

                At least I knew about it early this time; normally it took a few days before I figured out that something was going on. That time, though, I found out the day of because Charity called me and told me that Michael hadn’t come home. Michael, you see, always comes home when he can. He wouldn’t miss tucking his children in, kissing them goodnight, for anything less than the direst of emergencies. I told her that I had no idea where he was and she grew as close to frantic as I’d ever heard her. I promised her that I’d find out what was going on. And then Jack called me from Murphy’s phone and he was terrified because Murphy hadn’t come home either and I was horrified, I was lost.

                I worried that it had been Nicodemus, I worried that it had been a million things, but mostly I worried that I’d lose my best friends and I didn’t think I could handle that. I ran back down to my own apartment and Thomas saw how frantic I was in moments. He grabbed me by my shoulders, his grip almost too tight, and shook me just a little. I realized I’d been babbling the whole time, and tried to calm down because he wanted me to tell him what was wrong.

                “Michael and Murphy are gone. I don’t know where they are. I have to find them, Thomas,” I was saying, and he nodded and pulled me tight against him. I was shaking, I noted, shaking hard, and he petted my hair. I stood there for too long, probably, but I wasn’t any good to anyone with my thoughts in a mess, so I guess it was good that I settled. It was that that got me thinking clearly enough to try the tracking spell with the hair I kept in my basement (just in case, I’d told them, just in case. I’ll worry if I don’t have it) but, as explained earlier, it was fruitless and only made me freak out a little again. I was out on the streets moments after that, though, out on the streets and hitting all my usual avenues for information, Thomas right at my side because he said he didn’t want me out on my own if two of my best friends were gone. I guessed I could understand the worry.

* * *

 

                I realized something was seriously wrong when all three of the minor practitioners I usually went to in order to get the scoop on anything big they’d heard of happening weren’t at home. That had never happened before, and when I went to Mac’s, I found the door shut and the lights off. Thomas’ lips were tense and I could see in his face that he knew something was off too. He held my wrist and the cool touch was comforting even though my heart was pounding away far too fast in my chest.

                I felt lost and helpless, I felt confused. And then I thought of that woman, that too knowledgeable woman lurking in the back of a seedy speakeasy. I looked around for a clock and when I found one I found that it was about five fifteen. Thomas had me at the 1914’s door ten minutes later and I strode in as if I came there all the time (which, come to think of it, was getting to be something close to true) and the penguin suited guy led me into the back again. The woman sat there, a beacon of hope, sipping on something clear and gazing at me hard from the shadows of her shroud. I walked up to her with a lot more confidence than I felt, sort of glad that Thomas had decided to wait by the car, and when I reached her the sparse curve of her mouth pulled into a frown.

                “You have returned to me already, Harry Dresden? Did I not make it clear enough to you yet that I am uninvolved with your sort?”

                “My friends are gone; even Mac isn’t in. Something’s wrong.” She nodded, and sipped at her drink again.

                “Quite. The heavens are in an uproar.” My heart stopped. Her frown turned into a tiny smirk. “Do not tell me that you had not realized it, Harry Dresden.” She reached out and touched my wrist, her fingertips like fire, and when she pulled them away little circles had been burned into my flesh. “I often question why Uriel is so enamored with you, Wizard, but I suppose the minds of those above me are not mine to understand. He would not mind, were I to help you, however, and he is my presiding officer. Perhaps, Harry Dresden, I will tell you a little.”

                “Please,” I said, even though her little remark about Uriel had me a little off-balance. I hadn’t known that an archangel had any sort of interest in me; if I had I’d have probably made a whole lot of different choices in life. Attention like that is, like, the definition of dangerous. I mean, I wouldn't have been as nervous if it had been any of the other archangels, but Uriel is... he's kind of an unknown, honestly. His name is in the stories, yeah, and obviously he's involved, but his nature, his exact actions, remain coated in mystery. Unknowns don't normally play out too well for me.

                “The enemies of life are moving; those beings that you have titled the Black Council. A sacrifice is to take place in three days’ time, a sacrifice of all of this city’s might. The city’s strength will become theirs. Foolish little creatures, the lot of you. I oft wonder why Father gave creatures such as you free will; you all squander it.” Her fingertips drummed against the table and her shroud slipped a little (I can’t help but think that if she hadn’t wanted that to happen it wouldn’t have), allowing me to see her face clearly for the first time.

                She looked like she’d been rolled in ink, her skin black as the night sky. Even the whites of her eyes were black, voids that sucked in all light, and I stepped away from her just a little.

                “Hell’s Bells,” I murmured, and she smiled again.

                “Death is common here; I’ve found that it serves me well to wait here and watch. That man there,” she said, pointing to a big guy with a deep scar on his face who was playing pool, “Has but five days more. He will die here, and then this place will close due to heavier law enforcement attention. I suppose I will miss it, a bit.”

                “You’re an Angel of Death,” I said, and she nodded.

                “I am. We all are under Uriel’s dominion. He is so fascinated with you. He must know something that I do not; or perhaps I do know of what he does. I could not tell you either way, truly; I cannot interfere with free will though I have none of my own.” And wasn’t that just the funniest thing? I touched her hand, burning my own palm to do it, and she had a touch of surprise on her face as she adjusted her shroud to hide her skin and her eyes again. “As moments pass I become more certain that I do in fact know the reason for Uriel’s interest. You are a strange man, even for one of your ilk.”

                “Don’t I know it,” I said. “Can you tell me where the Black Council is going to have that sacrifice?” She shook her head.

                “No. I’m afraid that were I to tell you now, it would alter the course of things, and I must not allow that to happen. I can help you no more; only know that a great base of natural power would be required to perform such a ritual.” I felt her little shove of force again, the one that meant she want me to leave her, and turned away. I spared one last glance to the man who’d be dead in five days, one last glance to the Angel who watched him intently, probably seeing more than I could ever dream of, and then I left, found Thomas waiting for me in his car outside, and had him drive me back to the apartment. I had no more business there, nothing that I could do. Besides, the Lady had given me something to start from, and I was pretty sure I had a good idea of where to go from there.

* * *

 

                I let Thomas come down to my lab with me, and he gaped just a bit at the sheer amount of stuff I had lining the walls, but unlike me, he didn’t stumble over the random stuff scattered over the floor. Admittedly, I glared at him a little for that because it was just unfair. How come he got _all_ the grace? Shouldn’t it have been a little more evenly distributed? Really.

                Anyway, I cleared off a place on one of my benches for him to sit, and he watched me worriedly, obviously afraid that in my currently not-exactly-100-percent state I’d do something stupid. Which, admittedly was a possibility, but I always do stupid things so I didn’t think stupid when I was worried was much different from stupid when I wasn’t. Whatever, I probably didn’t help his nerves when I started talking to Bob, but he was probably fine once Bob talked back.

                “Hey, wake up, Bob! I need you to give me a refresher course on ley lines, and tell me where the major ones are around here.” The skull yawned theatrically and I heard a sharp intake of breath from Thomas’ direction.

                “Where’s the fire, Boss? And what’s the vampire doing down here?”

                “The fire is that my friends are missing and the vampire is my half-brother. His name is Thomas. Thomas, this is Bob, my magical encyclopedia/assistant. He helped keep me semi-sane when I was with that man you saw in my soul. Bob, Thomas is my mom’s other son.” They sort of stared at each other for a couple of seconds and then proceeded to pretend that the other didn’t exist at all in any way, shape, or form. Upon considering Bob’s propensity for excessive enjoyment of human bodies doing things with other human bodies, and considering Thomas’ particular condition, I decided that I should probably be grateful for that and not question it at all ever for fear that it would change. Bob cleared his not-throat and spoke again.

                “Well, anyway, ley lines are natural sources of magic that flow all around the world in kind of a web. They’re the strongest where they connect with one another, and a whole lot of them connect in various places here in Chicago. There’s a map of them in the third book on the right on the fifth shelf over behind the… Thomas. You can check that. What do ley lines have to do with your friends?”

                “The Black Council is planning a sacrifice, a big one. They’re collecting people around the city with power; Michael and Murphy are already gone, and so are a lot of the minor practitioners around town and Mac. The ritual is supposed to happen in three days, so I need to figure out where it is fast. If they do this, there’s no telling how much stronger they’re going to get.”

                “Incredibly so, probably. Depends on how much power they can draw out of each person. I mean, if they just get Michael’s alone they’d get a pretty big power boost. Everyone with power in the city, though? They’d be nigh on invincible. Chicago seems to attract a whole lot of magic.” Of course. Thomas pulled the book from the shelf behind him for me, steadfastly looking everywhere but Bob, and I had to smile a little as I found the map Bob had mentioned.

                He was right, by the way; a bunch of the ley lines did converge here in Chicago. The heart of the matter, though, was finding out where they were crossing. That, I guessed, would just be a matter of legwork. I knew most of the areas around town where magic was active, where I found myself able to tap into a little more strength than usual, so I’d start with those, maybe follow them, until I reached some sort of center.

                “Thanks, Bob,” I said, snapping the book shut and standing. “Thomas, can you take me to the warehouse on fifth? I’m going to start there and follow that line until I hit the middle.” He nodded.

                “Anything, Harry,” he said, and I believed him. I think that might’ve been one of the strangest things ever, that fact. People didn’t just offer me ‘anything’, not ever. They had a catch, or they had restrictions, but Thomas… I wondered if this was how it was with all families or if I’d just gotten lucky one more time. We walked shoulder to shoulder as we went back outside and got back into his car, Bob watching us the whole way with something odd in his candle flame eyes.

* * *

 

                The warehouse wasn’t quite as uninhabited as I’d been expecting, when I got there. As a matter of fact, the place was packed; a clump of men with guns slung over their backs stood in the center of the place, the ones on one side gesturing widely and yelling, and the ones on the other side nervously fingering their weapons. A bunch of creates sat between them and I saw bottle necks sticking out of the open tops. I was pretty sure that I’d just interrupted a liquor deal that was about to go really, really wrong and I hadn’t even meant to. Thomas gaped at the group of made men, seeming kind of confused. I could understand that, too, because my life simply wouldn’t be my life if it weren’t super confusing.

                “This happen to you often?” he asked.

                “The rum deals or the general weird stuff?”

                “Both, I guess.”

                “Well, this is about the fourth alcohol deal I’ve interrupted, and I lost count of the weird shit years ago.” Somehow the mobsters had managed to continue not noticing us that whole time, and a red head who I recognized, one from the side of the loud, gesticulating men, finally came out on top of it all.

                “Everybody shut the fuck up. I asked you a simple fucking question: who made this shit and who ran it?” Hendricks had a dark, baleful look in his blue eyes, his massive arms crossed tight over his chest, and I quailed along with the gangsters. Their apparent leader stepped forward and mumbled a couple of names, and Hendricks’ lips went thin. “Get the hell out of this city and take that shit with you. Johnny doesn’t do business with those two anymore and you know it.” Before that moment, I had never seen men with guns that big attempt to flee that fast, but sadly enough they weren’t able to get out too well, what with me and Thomas blocking the door and all. I raised my right hand and waved at them cheerily.

                “Hi!” I chirped, and I was pretty sure that I was about to get shot at. A lot. I jangled my bracelet and funneled a little magic into it, ready to pull my shield up in a moment’s notice, and just as I heard the sound of the weapons being cocked, Hendricks bellowed again.

                “Dresden, what the hell are you doing in a place like this? Christ, the Boss is going to be pissed. Just, get your skinny ass over here and let them out.” The only reason I did what he said was because I was planning on doing that anyway; really he’d only made the necessity of it a little more blatant. I took Thomas by the wrist and dragged him over to the man with me, and the other men left with their crates of booze as I watched. “Well?” he asked me when all of them were gone, and I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

                “You’re not going to believe me, but I’m here because this warehouse is built on top of what amounts to a river of magic, and I want to follow that river to its center.” It went quiet. Hendricks rubbed his forehead.

                “Can I ask why, Dresden?” I shrugged.

                “Does it matter?”

                “You just managed to trip into an organized crime alcohol transaction on your little ‘magic river’ quest. Yeah, I think it fucking matters why you’re doing it.” I sighed and stared down at my feet.

                “My friends are gone.” Something like guilt shot across his face, and the tense set of his shoulders relaxed a little.

                “They’re gone? You mean they ran off together or something? Why would they have followed that ‘river’?” I laughed just a little but I knew it didn’t sound as good as it could have.

                “Murphy and Michael run off together? Stones, no. They got… a lot of people have gotten kidnapped. My bartender, Mac, and a lot of his patrons. If I can find where this river meets up with the others at the center then I’ll find them.” Hendricks nodded slowly.

                “What are these rivers really called, Dresden? Explain this to me.” Thomas curled his fingers around my upper arm and I patted his hand to calm him down and tell him that it was okay. I didn’t really know Hendricks, admittedly, beyond knowing that he worked for Marcone, but I figured that there wasn’t much he could do with this information that would hinder me. Stars, Marcone would probably be pissed about the Black Council operating in Chicago anyway. If anything I’d get a little help.

                “Ley lines. They go all over the world, but they’re more concentrated in some places. Like, Stonehenge is right on top of a big one, and so are the Great Pyramids. Most of the big ancient works are. Funnily enough, Chicago has a pretty good amount of them too. Not as many as a whole lot of other places, but more than the majority of cities in the United States. My guardian always used to tell me that this was a bad country for magic and the supernatural; everyone’s too cynical here. Everyone’s forgotten the old stories, too preoccupied with making a name and all that; a lot of Wizards are moving back to Europe again because of that. Anyway, there’s this group; I’ve been calling them the Black Council, but I don’t know who they really are, or who’s involved, or anything like that. All I’ve seen is their presence in hindsight, but that’s enough to know that they exist. They’re planning a mass sacrifice in three days, one of everyone in the city with power. I figure that they started with the minor practitioners, a couple of Changelings, stuff like that, and I didn’t notice, but now they’ve started going for big game like Michael and Murphy. I need to… I’ve got to find them, okay, so can you just let me go?”

                “Why would they be at the center of these ley lines?”

                “Because to perform a ritual where that much power is changing hands, you need a big base of strength. What’s more surprising to me is that they chose to do it here when there are so many better places out there. Which, it might be because of me; I’ve tangled with one member of the Black Council before, and his Apprentice, and I’m pretty sure he holds a grudge. Now, I need to go. This particular line is headed that-a-way,” I said, pointing off in the distance and leading Thomas away with me.

                “Hold it, Dresden. We ain’t done talking yet. Hey, Rizzo, drive back with a couple of the boys and grab the Boss. Tell him Dresden busted up the deal.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms, my blasting rod prodding uncomfortably at my wrist.

                “You do know that I know, like, a lot of cops right? If I get to a payphone and give Rawlins a call you guys are basically done for.” Hendricks raised an eyebrow as the Rizzo guy and a few other men left.

                “That so? Well, I’m sure they’d love to hear about how you came running onto our private property accusing us of buying bootleg when there’s pretty obviously no bootleg here. Sorry to say it, Dresden, but you’re better off waiting here for about ten extra minutes and maybe getting some extra hands than you are trying to get us arrested. Even if you did manage to find a cop willing to do the arresting, we’d be out by dark.” The sad thing was that that was probably true. That didn’t make me any happier about it, though. I glared at the floor and Thomas settled a hand softly between my shoulder blades, then ran it comfortingly up and down a couple of times.

                “Do you want me to go ahead, Harry?” I sighed.

                “Wouldn’t do much good; you can’t read the ley line, can you? And even if you could, I don’t want you by yourself. You’re no weakling; chances are they’d take you if they found you, and I’ve got enough people I care about missing.” He nodded.

                “Alright. Do you have some kind of plan for whenever we get to where we’re going or are you just going to bust the door down?” I snickered.

                “Generally my plan _is_ to bust the door down, and play it by ear from there.” Thomas stared at me, a particular blank look on his face that I was pretty much certain he’d practiced in the mirror.

                “You’re an idiot.” He said it as if he were making some big realization, as if he’d never thought that such a thing could be possible, and Hendricks gaped.

                “I hardly know him and I knew that; how the hell did you start to date him without figuring that out?” Date me? What? I was pretty sure I’d missed something.

                “Thomas and I aren’t… uh… yeah.” Thomas cuffed me on the back of the head.

                “What he’s trying to say is that we’re friends. I just hit some hard times, so he let me move in.” Hendricks looked like he didn’t buy that for a second and I decided that I needed to reconsider many of the choices I’d made in my life as the warehouse door opened again and Marcone wandered in with his people at his side. He offered me a smile and Thomas a look that dug icicles under my skin when he reached us. I guessed he wasn’t a big fan of vampires.

                “Hello, Harry. May I ask why you felt it would be a good idea to traipse your way into a very unsafe area of the city and then proceed to barge into a suspicious warehouse when you have absolutely no idea what’s happening?” I blinked, slow and careful.

                “I didn’t do any of those things. I’ve been to this warehouse tons of times busting up some minor cults and things and there’s never been any gangsters here. I didn’t expect anyone to be here today.” He came closer, gradually angling his body so that he was standing between Thomas and me.

                “I’m afraid that doesn’t explain why you’re here.” I wiggled my toes in my boots and watched the old leather shift with the motion.

                “I’m following a magical river to the magical lake.” Marcone didn’t grace that with an answer.

                “That isn’t as stupid as he’s trying to make it sound, Boss. He explained it to me; that river he’s talking about is actually a ley line, which is apparently a river of magic. He’s trying to follow it to a place where it joins up with a bunch of other lines.” Understanding dawned on his confusingly tanned face, and then he nodded.

                “Ah. And do you have a reason for doing that or is this simply some hobby of yours? If that is the case then I must say that you should find lines to follow in less dangerous sections of the city.”

                “I’ve got a reason; my two best friends, my bartender, and the minor practitioners who I helped train a little in exchange for information have all been kidnapped and are going to be sacrificed and you’re making me waste time here explaining everything to you!” His eyes went wide and the green became suddenly, violently visible. He took another step closer to me, reached out to touch me, and I sidestepped back around to Thomas. “I need to go.”

                “Let my men and I go with you.”

                “I’m not going to throw more sacrifices into their hands, Marcone. The stakes would be high enough if they only had Michael, and even I don’t know what sort of power my bartender actually has, so there’s wildcards in there too. The less people the better.” He turned his eyes to Thomas for a split second before he was focused on me again.

                “Then simply allow me to accompany the two of you; no one else. It would make me feel far safer.” I needed to go and I didn’t have the time to argue with him.

                “Come on, then. Just don’t slow me down because I’m finding those bastards one way or another and I don’t care if you’re with me when I do it or not.” I said that as I was stomping off, my duster billowing behind me, and Thomas and Marcone both followed rapidly after me out to Thomas’ car. The fact that I had to get into the passenger seat probably diminished my badass veneer just a little.

* * *

 

                I managed to follow the line, more or less, until we reached the shores of Lake Michigan, at which point I was admittedly sort of lost. I could still feel it, vaguely, going out onto the water, but that didn’t make sense. Water grounds magic and Lake Michigan had a lot of water. Where could the ley line be going? Marcone was staring at me expectantly, and Thomas, who would know about the whole water thing, only looked confused.

                “Are you sure we’re in the right place, Harry? Unless that line goes straight on through to Canada, I don’t see anywhere we could go.” I scratched my head and stepped as close to the water’s edge as I dared, squinting my eyes so as to see as far across as I could, but I couldn’t see anything. Still I felt the ley line pulsing under my feet and off over the water.

                “I know this is right. There has to be something out there,” I said, and suddenly something like understanding bloomed across Marcone’s face. He looked proud, really, apparently happy that he was holding some big secret that would crack the case. I wondered if he’d want something in exchange for whatever information he had; it would only make sense.

                “Harry, there’s an-,” and then he got cut off, his eyes went wide, and he abruptly changed the topic. “Get out of the way!” he yelled, and it was only seconds after I registered that that I felt something crack me solidly over the head.

                It took me a little while to fall, and even when I did I fell on my knees first. The world was flashing between clear and hazy and totally black, and my knees were getting uncomfortably wet. I still at least had the coherency at that point to realize that I had way more important things than that to be thinking about just then, so I tried to stand but my legs wouldn’t listen to me, and Marcone and Thomas were both yelling and splashing and fighting, but I couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying because the words reached me in slow motion, as if they’d been covered in honey and molasses, and finally my body decided that it would be a whole lot more comfortable sprawled down in the water. I guess I should just count myself lucky that I was able to turn my head and therefore not drown my dumbass self. The last thing I heard was a gunshot and I couldn’t help but think that of course Johnny had guns with him.

* * *

 

                This should in no way surprise anyone, but I woke up in pain. My head was splitting, for a start, and my arms were under my back for some reason or another, so they were tingling and numb and something was pinching my wrists. I managed to roll over onto my side and wiggle some feeling back into them as I peeled my eyes open. For all the good that did me, though, I could’ve just kept them closed; the room I was in was dark as pitch, and I could hardly see a foot in front of me. I could at least hear still, though, and I heard the sound of two other people breathing in the room. I tried to pull my wrists apart and heard the soft tinkling of a chain, and it was at that point that I fully realized my situation.

                I was in some kind of cell with hard floors and no windows, and I was with two other people. I could hope that they were Marcone and Thomas, of course, but I had no way yet of knowing that for sure, and whoever had put me here had likely been the ones to take my friends as well. And I was in Thorn Manacles; that there was just icing on the damned cake, I guess. I cleared my throat and managed to lever myself up to a sitting position, the room and the other two figures in it getting a little more clear as my eyes got used to the darkness.

                “Hello? Who else is in here?” I asked, and heard twin intakes of breath followed by the noise of two people scrabbling towards me.

                “Harry, thank god,” Marcone said, “You’ve been out for hours. I’d begun to wonder if they’d killed you.”

                “Are you alright?” Thomas questioned, and I snorted before I nodded.

                “Yeah, I’m good. I can’t move my arms and I have a headache sent straight from the deepest depths of hell, but otherwise I’m peachy keen.” Thomas punched my arm and I hissed.

                “Don’t be an ass right now,” he said, “and why can’t you move your arms?” I turned to look at him and his eyes gleamed through the dark like polished metal.

                “Manacles,” I said, and shook them again for emphasis. Thomas had his hands on them almost immediately, before I could tell him not to. I felt the points of the thorns beginning to make themselves known against my skin as the device detected his urge to tamper with it. “No, nonono let go!” He dropped them right away, as if burned.

                “Harry?” he asked me, and I sighed.

                “They’re thorn manacles. They’re keyed to cut my wrists whenever they feel me using magic, or whenever someone tries to take them off of me without the key. I can’t do much with them on, to tell the truth. Either way, we need to try and figure out where we are.” Marcone spoke up again, his hand settling on top of my thigh. I wiggled it a little but he didn’t move it, so I decided to just shut up about it for now, since, again, we had bigger problems.

                “I may have some insight on that. There is an island at the center of Lake Michigan, but it was stricken from the maps years ago; it was quite dangerous to get to it because of the shallow water, you see, and quite a few boats were being sunk when they attempted to reach it and hit the rocks. It seems as though without the assurance that it’s there, people just naturally avoid it. I assume we’re on this crossing point you were mentioning now? Perhaps it is causing people to avoid the island.” Well. Apparently Marcone could actually be helpful. I nodded once, quick and precise, still wriggling my fingers and pulling at my shoulders to get the sensation back to my limbs.

                “It wouldn’t be the first time something like that has happened; there’s a whole well of power under our feet right now. That’s naturally going to make a lot of people worried, even if it’s only on an instinctual level. Hell, I wouldn’t try playing around with this stuff even on one of my best days. There’s a decent chance it’d burn me up along with whatever I was after; this is a wild kind of power. Anyway, your island sounds like a good idea; best I think we’re going to come up with, in any case. Do either of you know how long we’ve been here?”

                “About twelve hours, probably. I’d say it’s close to six a.m. now,” Thomas said, and I twitched my fingers again.

                “That’s just great. Has anyone come in here since they tossed us in here?”

                “Just long enough to bring a jug of water and some bread. We left some for you, by the way.”

                “The water would be nice, but I’m not really hungry. Can one of you give me a sip?” I hated how helpless that made me sound, but if I wanted anything to drink I didn’t have many other options. It was too dark for me to see who it was, but someone held the rim of the jug to my lips and helped me drink. I smiled appreciatively after it was removed. “Thanks.” No one answered me, but I guess that was okay. Stones, but I was still tired. “Okay, so we’ve got two days left. That’s great. Hell’s Bells. We’ve got two days left and I have no idea what to do.”

                “My people will most certainly come after me soon, since I did not return yesterday. I believe that they will arrive before we are harmed. You appear as if you’re still tired, Harry. Why don’t you sleep for a few hours more? Mr. Raith and I slept last night; we will be able to stay awake by ourselves until it is a more reasonable hour. You’ll be able to think more clearly when your head isn’t hurting anyway.” Thomas’ hand settled on my arm and I could see his chromed eyes bob when he nodded, and then he was carefully lowering me down sideways across his lap, my head pillowed on one of his legs and my bound arms as comfortable as they were going to get.

                “For once I agree with him. Sleep; I’ll wake you if something happens.” He settled a hand loosely in my hair, his fingers working some kind of magic against my aching head.

                “Nrgh,” I said, ever-articulate, and he laughed.

                “Sleep,” he said one more time, and I had no problem following that particular command. About five minutes later I wished I hadn’t because I found myself in a nightmare. Of all the times, huh?

                I couldn’t say it started like it always did because they always started a little differently, but it was usual, familiar, at the very least. I was smaller than I should’ve been, short for my age, not yet going through my growth spurt. I was twelve again, twelve years old with shaggy hair and a full belly, better off than I’d been for probably my whole life, but a sort of wrongness was gnawing at my heart.

                A man was standing beside me, and even though he was slight and lithe he still had about four or five inches of height on me. His hair was thin, a pale blonde so light it could be mistaken for white in the right light, and it was swept back into a tight ponytail. The style put his sharp, angular face on display, but it also drew attention to his eyes. I’d never liked his eyes; they were an ugly shade of brown, muddy and garbled with splotches of black in them. He had one long hand curled around my shoulder, and then he turned and crouched so that we were at eye level with one another. His hand squeezed my shoulder so tightly that I could feel the bones trying to separate from one another.

                “My little one,” he said, “my sweetest boy. Darling Harry; such strength! Such will! Such a thirst to learn! I could not ask for a better apprentice,” he told me, and the hand suddenly loosened to a gentle touch before he moved his fingers to comb through my tangled hair. “I must get you a haircut, however; perhaps we can go to town tomorrow.” I wanted to jerk away from his touch but I couldn’t; I wasn’t allowed. I remembered this day. I had to let the dream play out.

                “Can we?” I asked, and my voice was mine but not mine. I hadn’t sounded like that in years and the noise made me want to bite my tongue.

                “Certainly. Come, let’s go to my office for now. You did well, learning the fire spell yesterday; I’m so very proud of you. Today I believe I’ll set you to copying some ward anchors; you need to tune your hand a bit more.” His words sounded hollow to my ears, now, but back then they’d been more important than anything. I’d lived to make him proud of me. The worst part was coming up, though, the part I hated most. My mouth opened and words I’d spoken then, words that made me sick now, came tumbling out.

                “I love you, Uncle Justin.” He petted my hair again but didn’t respond verbally. He opened the door to his office, and with a rush of warmth from his fireplace the nightmare changed scenes.

                I was older, in this part, maybe fourteen. I was his height now, but he still seemed to tower over me, especially just then. He had his hand clutched tightly in my hair, pulling it hard to make me tilt my head back, display my neck vulnerably, and I could feel tears beading at the corners of my eyes with the pain.

                “Clumsy little fool! Have you any idea how much those ingredients cost? Well?”

                “I’m sorry, Uncle Justin,” I heard myself whimper, and I at least sounded more like myself, but maybe that was worse because I’d never say that now, not to him. He shook his hand and I felt pieces of my hair getting yanked out with the movement.

                “Don’t call me that, fool child. You are far more trouble than you are worth, boy. I’d have been better served to leave you in that hole to rot; Elaine is far more willing to _listen._ ” I swallowed and it made my skin stretch tight.

                “I’ll listen, I promise. Don’t send me back, please. I’ll do better; I’ll do whatever you want, Master, please.” He dropped my hair and I fell into the pile of glass and bluish liquid that had resulted when I accidentally dropped a bottle while he was teaching me a potion. The shattered glass cut through my pants and sliced my knees, and I could feel the liquid seeping into my clothes. It was cold as ice, I recalled now, but I hadn’t really noticed at the time. I’d been too wrapped up in the fact that _I’d disappointed Master._ I’d felt useless, then, felt like I probably deserved to be sent back to the orphanage. I’d thought that he really was a saint for putting up with me for so long when he was under no obligation to do it. I’d figured that it was fine for him to hit me sometimes because it was just discipline and because I deserved it anyway and he’d never _really_ hurt me, not like some of the other families. He’d never broken my bones or left bruises that turned blue-purple-green-yellow, he’d never denied me food, he’d never locked me in my bedroom or the basement or anywhere else. I’d been amazed, really, by how good he was to me.

                “For a start you can clean that mess up. Come to my office when you have finished.” And then he’s swept out, black robe swishing, and I’d done what he’d asked of me, I’d cleaned up my mess and walked up to his office. He hugged me when I got there, his arms wrapping too tight around me and crushing my rib cage when he pulled me hard against him.

                “Master?” And he’d sighed, he’d stroked my cheeks and my hair, he’d shut his eyes. I’d felt loved again, important, warm. I’d been so happy that he’d forgiven me again even though I didn’t deserve it.

                “Child, I’m sorry; you don’t have to call me that. I reacted far too harshly against you. Mistakes happen, I understand that. I’ve dropped things more than once in my time; don’t dwell on it. Ah, your knees, come here. Let me bandage them for you.”

                “Thank you, Uncle Justin,” I’d said, and then that part of the nightmare faded too and I was sent into the worst part, the part that still terrified me even to this day.

                I was bound with rope in the fetal position, my overlong sixteen year old body curled into a too-small circle set into the office floor. I could see Elaine standing over me, her mouth moving around the words to a binding that kept me from wriggling my way out of the ropes but her eyes were empty and dim, shadowed and not her own. He stood beside her, his teeth white in the darkness where they flashed.

                “I’d hadn’t wanted to do this so soon, you know; I’d thought to give you a few years more. But you simply had to come home early, didn’t you? Ah well. I’ve always prided myself on being rather flexible; it will do no one any harm if my plans are accelerated a bit.” He had a knife in his hands, long and thin, honed to a razor’s edge.

                “Uncle Justin, no! What are you doing? Let me go! What did you do to Elaine? Elaine, help me!” He smiled and bent down, gently patting my cheek, those terrible eyes looking frozen and unreal.

                “Be silent, boy. Do you no longer want me to care for you forever? This is the only way for that to happen. You must be broken, my boy; you’re too wild, too disobedient, to remain under my care otherwise. Simply lie still; I will mark you with my name and you will be mine, alright? Mine forever, my darling little Apprentice.”

                “No! Uncle Justin, I love you! Don’t do this to me, please!” This was where the dream changed from reality; in real life, I got away. I managed to break Elaine’s spell and get out of the ropes and run. Here, I didn’t. Here, I was too weak. Three quick flicks of his wrist and my shirt was gone, and the knife settled on my shoulder where my collar bone hooked to the rest of it. He pressed down just a little and it stung, my blood beading up, and as he dragged the blade down, curved it up into a quick, clean “J”, I screamed. “Uncle Justin! You promised that you loved me!” He smiled and started on the “U”.

                “I do, little one. That is why I must do this.” I was crying hard, messy and ugly, my face hot and splotchy feeling.

                “Don’t do this to me, please, please don’t do this to me, Uncle Justin, Master, I love you, please, no,” I cried, and then I was awake, I was awake again and two people were yelling my name and I surged upwards. My face felt wet; Thomas had his hand around one of my arms and Marcone was holding the other. I took a deep breathe. “Sorry for… uh, startling you guys, I guess. I have… it’s not too often, but I have nightmares. That was… yeah. Sorry.” Marcone’s eyes were fixed on my face, and Thomas’ hands were shaking.

                “Harry, may I ask who Justin is?” Marcone asked me quietly, as if he were soothing an animal, and Thomas seemed to be trying to pull me away from him. He held me a little tighter in response, and some kind of tension started sparking in the air. I should’ve known he’d ask me that, if he ever heard the name pass my lips. I should’ve known that he wasn’t the type to just leave well enough alone.

                “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s dead.” Thomas tugged at me again. Marcone fixed a glare on him that would have made any lesser man quake.

                “I believe that he still matters quite a lot, if you still have nightmares of him.”

                “Leave me alone.”

                “Tell me who he was and I shall.” Thomas snarled.

                “It’s none of your business, asshole. Leave him alone.” Marcone sneered, something cold on his face.

                “I should be telling you that, vampire. You are the one who’s got him under some _spell._ ” I wished that I could run my hand through my hair. I wished that I could move my hands in any way, as a matter of fact.

                “Don’t say that, Marcone. He’s… Thomas is a good guy, okay? He’s not doing anything to me; he wouldn’t. And Thomas, it’s… I don’t like talking about it, but he’s not going to drop it and we need to try and figure out how to get out of here. Everybody just calm down. What do you want to know, Marcone?”

                “Who he was to you, for a start.”

                “My foster father. He adopted me when I was ten and died when I was sixteen.”

                “I assume that this was not a sad experience for you? He sounded quite… from your dream, I would guess that he was cruel to you.” I bit my lip and Thomas moved his hand behind my back to squeeze my fingers.

                “Yeah. Yeah, he was… he wasn’t always the model father figure. Not there at the end, anyway. He saved me, though. I was willing to overlook a lot just because I was so glad to have a family. Not… he tried to Enthrall me. He did Enthrall my foster sister. I got away, though, and I ran. He sent an Outsider after me, but I managed to get away from that, too, and then my godmother found me. I made a deal with her and she let me go back and burn the fucker. I got sort of arrested for it, though, by the magical equivalent of the police. They tried to behead me, but a man named McCoy saved me for real. I lived with him in Missouri before I came to Chicago. Are we done now?” He watched me shift on the ground uncomfortably, watched me as I steadfastly avoided watching him because I didn’t want to see his face. I’d just revealed my weakness to him. I’d just showed him tears and that terrified me, a little, because I didn’t know if he’d use that against me. He reached up and wiped my eyes. I swallowed thickly.

                “What did you overlook, Harry? What did he do to you?” I glared because anger was easy, anger I could do, and I tried to move away from him but I couldn’t manage it. Thomas was watching me too, now, his fingers running over the back of my hand in an attempt to settle me a little.

                “It was fine, okay? It was fine. He was worse on Elaine than me; he expected more of her. I was the mistake anyway. I was fine. I’m still fine.” He cocked his head just a little and squeezed my elbow.

                “That isn’t an answer.”

                “He liked… he would hit me, sometimes, but never that hard. He’d just slap me sometimes, or grab me by the hair. Sometimes he’d squeeze my wrist or my hand or my shoulder too hard when he was moving me how he wanted me, but he’d always apologize if he left a bruise. He was one of the best foster fathers I’d had, though, so I didn’t complain. He never did it when I hadn’t done something wrong anyway.” Marcone looked _pissed._ I wondered if I’d said something to upset him, somehow.

                “What could you have possibly done to deserve being struck?”

                “I broke bottles and ruined potion ingredients. I burned dinner, or breakfast, or anything else I tried to cook. I knocked a hole in my wall. I ran into Elaine once when she was evocating and caused her to knock over the china cabinet. I didn’t anchor wards properly and ended up scorching a ring into his office floor.” He stopped my listing of my childish sins there with a hand and looked as if he wanted to sweep me into his arms, for some reason.

                “That is no excuse for abuse, Harry.”

                “It wasn’t that bad. Some of the other parents tried to literally kill me because they thought I was some kind of demon, a freak, whatever else; he never wanted me dead, at least. And like I said, until that last day, until he got me tied up on the basement floor, he always apologized when he hurt me. He was… he was terrible. I hate him now. He sure as hell wasn’t the worst person I ever lived with, though. Eb had to have been the best, though; he really was good to me. He took care of me even though I was a dick to him for the first few months.”

                “You should not have to rationalize a normal situation, Harry. You can tell me and yourself that it was fine as much as you like, but we both know that that isn’t true.” I choked back something like a sob and he wiped my eyes again, crept slowly closer to me. “The vampire doesn’t deserve you, you know.” Huh? I reeled away, backwards against Thomas, and he followed.

                “What are you talking about?” I asked.

                “That vampire; he does not deserve you. He is no good.” I recalled what Hendricks had thought, and Thomas carefully slipped out from behind me, put his hand on the center of Marcone’s chest and pushed to get a little space between us.

                “I don’t have him, idiot. We’re not dating; I might’ve played up the mojo a little around you, yeah, I’ll admit that, but that was only because I don’t like you. Harry didn’t even know I was doing it. He and I are just friends. I hit a rough patch and he’s seeing me through it. I’ve got a girlfriend and everything; she’s super pretty. I mean, I can’t touch her or anything anymore, but she still exists and all.”

                “Yes, I am certain to believe that the lust vampire has a girlfriend that he cannot touch.” Thomas glared sharply, and while I hadn’t known that he had a girlfriend, I knew why he was upset now.

                “He loves her. The White Court can’t touch love; it burns them. He fell in love with her, so he can’t touch her. You could’ve mentioned that, Thomas.” He grinned, his arm snaking around my shoulder easily.

                “I’d planned on taking you to meet her soon, actually, but this sort of threw a wrench into that plan. I think you’ll like her, though; she’s a real doll.” I smiled and shouldered him softly.

                “I’m sure. I can’t wait until I get the chance to meet her,” I told him honestly, because he was my older brother, and what kind of little brother would I be if I didn’t get to meet his girlfriend and embarrass the hell out of him in front of her? Marcone watched his all silently before he pressed his palm into the middle of my chest again.

                “I still hold to my words; he deserves nothing of yours, friendship included. He’s a monster; he’ll certainly mistreat you. I, though-,” he cut himself off with a snarl and pulled away from me, and I rocked carefully up to my feet and marched over to him, my eyes blazing darkly because who the hell was he to tell me who deserved what from me? He climbed to his own feet and set his jaw defiantly, green eyes an emerald mine in the dark.

                “You’d what, Marcone? Come on, tell me. What would you do? What makes you so much more deserving than him?” He curled his hand into the front of my shirt and pulled me down just a little, so I was closer to his height. He spoke to me through clenched teeth, the words coming out with a certain sort of anger that made me positive that he wouldn’t be saying anything he was saying if he were thinking clearly.

                “I’ve loved you for nearly two years,” he hissed, “and yet he gets a place in your home and your heart after little more than a day. I have been nothing but kind to you; I have done everything that I can think to do to get across that I mean you no ill will and yet you refuse my hospitality.” He… what? He’d loved me for nearly two years? That didn’t make sense.

                “Marcone, did they hit your head too? I only met you a week or two ago.”

                “I saved your life, in an alleyway. You had a little girl with you, about thigh high to you. She was crying and even though you were the one who’d nearly been shot, you comforted her. I’ve had people on you since that day, you know, looking after you, telling me who you were. I’ve grown to love you,” he said, and then he was kissing me, Johnny Marcone was kissing me. I gasped and he took the opportunity to pull me closer to nip at my lower lip, and I stood stock still as he did it before I slowly, slowly, slowly kissed him back. He groaned and pulled away and why had I done that? I guessed I’d been more stressed than I thought. I scrambled away from him, my chest heaving, and Thomas took hold of me again. He led me across the room, away from Marcone, Marcone with the heaving chest and the… the lust in his eyes, and I watched him warily. I hadn’t had any idea… he hadn’t really given any indication, had he? If he had, I sure as hell hadn’t noticed it. Thomas made certain to sit between us even as Marcone came a little closer and sat back down near us. “My… my apologies. That was quite rude of me,” he said softly, and I nodded.

                “It’s… yeah. Don’t… don’t worry about it,” I said, and my fingertips tracing slowly across my bottom lip as I watched him. I could hear the start of a growl rumbling in the back of Thomas’ throat, but he bit it back. “Why don’t we try and talk about how to get out of here now?” I asked, and that’s what we did. We didn’t come up with the greatest plan, though; really it was sort of awful. The best we had was to plan some kind of great, badass escape when they came to fetch us out of the cell to participate in the sacrifice. There wasn’t really anything else we could do, at that point, and I felt helpless. My two companions seemed pretty close to that state themselves too, actually.

                Anyway, we plotted until we got tired, at which point we just lay down where we sat, Thomas being careful to stay between Marcone and I even when he tried some truly fascinating maneuvers to get over to where I was. I just curled into a wall, cold and uncomfortable, my shoulders aching, and forced myself into a shallow sleep. Marcone and Thomas argued softly as I did it, but I couldn’t understand the words they were using and I figured I probably didn’t care anyway. I do know that Marcone’s tone was weirdly emotional, though; it sounded almost jealous, but that was just ridiculous, especially since Thomas and I had sort of explained (look, all we omitted was that we were brothers, okay? And it would’ve been dangerous for him to know that) what was really going on with us. Still, I was nearly asleep and too tired to care, so I simply ignored it all for that moment and tried to think of a way to get out of there.


	10. Chapter 10

                On the next day, not much happened. We all took turns pacing nervously, each of us worried in our own way that we had one more day to live, one more day and then we’d be a sacrifice. Thomas took to clinging to my arm and Marcone took to glaring at everything and it was only rarely that any of us could talk to another without the third person getting annoyed. The tension was palpable and my magic was flaring up with my nerves, causing my fancy new bracelets to cause some pretty miserable pain to sprout up in my wrists and hands. It was maybe one o’clock or so when Marcone caught me wincing and came over to sit by me. I squirmed just a little and Thomas edged between us guardedly, but Marcone only shook his head.

                “I promise that I’m not going to do anything, Mr. Raith. I’m far above the use of force to get what I want. I only wish to help Harry relieve the pain in his wrists, as he’s been wincing for many hours now and I can’t imagine that the pain is slackening in the least. I’ve gotten out of handcuffs without tampering with them before, you see; perhaps the method I used will work with those things as well.” Normally I’d have told him and his scumbag-y criminal bastard skills to fuck off, but I _hurt._ I could feel the blood leaking from around the cuffs and down my hands, staining the floor and my clothes where it touched, and really it was getting pretty dangerous. My blood is a deadly thing; if the Black Council got that, they could do a whole hell of a lot more than sacrifice me.

                “I’ll try anything at this point, Marcone,” I mumbled, and he nodded. Thomas moved out of the way, but stayed close enough that he could lunge at us if he saw anything he didn’t like, and Marcone carefully took hold of my wrists just above the cuff.

                “Doing it this way will hurt, I hope you know, but I assume it will be vastly superior to whatever pain you feel now.”

                “I’ve had knife wounds that hurt less,” I said quietly, and he nodded.

                “I’m going to dislocate your thumb. When I do, you should be able to squeeze your hand through the cuff.”

                “Okay, just… let me calm down for a second first. The thorns are in my wrist right now, so if I try to do anything at the moment I’ll probably tear some good chunks of skin off too.” He waited patiently as I walled the magic off, as I relaxed myself, and the thorns receded back into the metal’s workings. “Okay,” I said, and in moment’s he’d done what he said he would. I screamed, but he’d told me the truth. I managed to get my hand out of the cuff, and he proceeded to put the thumb back into place, which somehow managed to hurt more even though my arm and hand were quickly going numb with the new position after being held behind my back for nearly three days.

                “Can you handle the other one?” he asked me, almost worried, but I nodded.

                “Just do it, damn it. I’m tougher than I look.” His laugh almost sounded pained.

                “I’m coming to realize that,” he said, and jerked my other thumb from its socket. I guess I was getting more used to that particular injury because it didn’t hurt enough to make me cry out that time, and I was able to be more thoughtful about slipping my hand free because I was a little more clearheaded. He put the appendage back in place efficiently, and I turned to face him with a small smile on my face.

                “Thanks, Johnny.” I looked down at his hands and saw that they were slick, red with my blood just like my own hands were. He placed one of my hands gently in his and examined the deep punctures that surrounded my wrist.

                “Why would someone make such a device?” he asked softly, and I let a little ball of fire spark into my hands and light the cell we were trapped inside. His face was twisted with pain, with something like sadness, but he made himself go blank as soon as he realized that I could see. Thomas crawled over to us on his knees, and he touched my damaged skin too, I guess because he didn’t want to feel excluded as being the only one without some of my blood staining his skin.

                “Nobody knows who first made them, so I don’t know what the original purpose was, but the White Council sure as hell loves them, and so do a lot of things that would have the need to keep a Wizard helpless. Wizards need concentration to make a spell work, you know? The pain is just distracting enough to keep us from forming a spell but the injuries aren't severe enough to kill us. Running water is a lot simpler, but not quite as effective, since some stronger Wizards can still manage to pull off a spell even if it’s nowhere near as effective. Anyway, they’re used in White Council trials, so the Warlock doesn’t cause damage, and in situations like this where someone wants to hold a Wizard hostage.” He let out a low, slow sigh, and Thomas carefully separated our hands.

                “Thanks for helping him, Marcone,” he said, and then spent a few minutes rubbing the joints of my thumbs to soothe the ache. Marcone watched this with shadows in his eyes but he didn’t comment this time.

                “A being such as you shouldn’t be caged,” he said, softly, and left it at that. Neither Thomas nor I responded. Maybe that was for the best.

                We stayed like that, quiet and a whole lot calmer than before, for another few hours, but then the cell door opened and things started happening in a rush.

                The black robed figure that had done the door opening ran at me when it noticed that my cuffs were off, and I let my fire blaze at the being. It stumbled backwards with the force of it and hit the wall, and I and my two companions ran out the open cell door without looking back. We followed the hallway down into an open room, and a huge circle already full of bound people dominated said room. Some of them were conscious, others semi-conscious, and some totally out, but I didn’t take much stock of them beyond a cursory check to see if I saw anyone I knew, and it turns out that I did. Settled in a corner sat Mortimer Lindquist, squirming and wriggling, and I ran over to him and started untying him. He looked ready to snap at me before Thomas and Marcone came up beside me, but then he just went silent.

                “What the fuck are you two doing? Go untie those other people, now. We’re in a hurry; they’ve probably got everyone bringing the sacrifices in right now, so we don’t have much time. If you see Murphy and Michael let them know I’m alright,” I said, and they did as I said quickly and without complaint. “Hey, Mort,” I said, pulling him up to his feet, and he snuffed.

                “Is this your doing?” he asked me, and I displayed my wrists to him.

                “Does it look like it? I got kidnapped too. Only difference is that I got loose. Are you going to help me or not?”

                “Depends, Dresden; you going to keep out of my way after this?”

                “As much as possible. Until now I’ve been as good as my word to cut contact with you, and in this case I just sort of figured you didn’t want me to leave you to get sacrificed by the Black Council.”

                “I’ll do what I can,” he said, and I nodded.

                “Great. Just, start untying people. Quick as you can,” I said, and ran off to do just that. I only got a few more people loose before I got forced hard to the floor by some magic force. I only barely caught sight of Cowl and Kumori before I hit the ground, but the fear was a cold chill down my spine nonetheless.

                “Harry Dresden,” Cowl said, “I really must question how long you will insist upon being a thorn in my side. I suppose it is my own fault for trusting the fool Cassius to use my demon wisely enough to kill you.”

                “I told you that you should’ve had me do it,” Kumori said softly, and Cowl gently touched her head before he swept over to where I lay in the circle.

                “Indeed. You and your little friends should have left when you had the chance, Dresden. Ah, but it has always been your wont to die trying to protect others, yes? Ever since you thought you caused the death of darling little Elaine. Foolhardy boy, that is all you are. Too powerful to be left alone and too stupid to take the offers given to you.” He kicked my stomach hard and I’d have vomited had I eaten anything recently. As it was I got stuck in a coughing fit that left tears in my eyes. He proceeded to lift the force from my body and drag me up to my feet by my coat. “Shall we fight, Harry? You and I and our people? I shall let you and everyone else go if you succeed, yes? And if you lose I will let all but you free. Your power will be enough for now; the rest… when you are gone, we will have that easily.” I coughed again.

                “Don’t call me Harry you bastard.” I shook my arms out and started calling traces of magic to my fingertips. “You’re the one who sent Cassius after me?”

                “Indeed,” he said, and I felt him calling his own magic in response, “Although I’m afraid I had to kill him after his failure. He had outlived his usefulness, at that point. Perhaps his former master and I would be a better suited partnership, but I suppose that we would clash a bit too much for such a thing to work, and I do not believe that he yet desires your death.” I fired my flame and Marcone and Thomas were at my side, Thomas’ flesh glowing like white marble and Marcone brandishing a glinting knife because apparently someone had taken his gun. Cowl only laughed.

                It was a strange fight, admittedly, and definitely not my best. I lost sight of Cowl more times than I’d have liked to admit, and Kumori was preternaturally fast anyhow, so whenever Cowl slipped away from me and I tried to look for him, she caught me hard in the back of the knee or the shoulder or wherever else with a blast of her own quick magic.

                And then Thomas grabbed her, a glowing idol in the darkness, his eyes slipping from gray to mercury to marble, and the girl fell limp in his arms. Cowl cursed as he reappeared from wherever he had hidden himself as Thomas pressed a kiss to Kumori’s hidden lips, and Marcone lunged at Cowl from behind, his knife sinking into the man’s back before he managed to throw him across the room. Thomas dropped Kumori, who was currently as good as unconscious and went to my side again.

                “Go check on Marcone,” I told him, and he bared his teeth in a sneer for a moment but did as I asked anyway. From that point, I basically lost all focus on anything but the badass in front of me who knew a whole lot more magic than me that was trying to literally kill me. I did get the satisfaction of probably singing him a time or three, though, and that had to have been the most amazing thing of the day.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                For a man so small, the bastard was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked; he was, beyond Hendricks of course, the only man I’d ever met capable of flinging me so damn far. My back throbbed when I struck the ground and an awful headache sprouted behind my eyes after my head thunked onto the stone floor, but otherwise I supposed I wasn’t too worse for wear. I tried to get up again, but I felt a hard, frozen hand on my sternum that forced me back down. I lifted hazy eyes and caught sight of Raith staring inhumanly down at me through perfectly white, pupil-less eyes. I coughed and he let up on the pressure a bit.

                “I knew you weren’t human,” I managed, “but I had no idea you were quite this much of a monster. What did you do to that girl?”

                “She’s not dead, just unconscious. Hell, it stopped her from killing Harry, didn’t it?” I shifted just a bit to try to get him to move his damnable hand, but he stayed solid. “For some stupid reason, Harry wanted me to check on you, and from what I can see, you’re not in any shape to keep fighting. Stay down or I’ll put you down.”

                “He can’t fight that man alone.”

                “He won’t be alone for long. Murphy and Michael are coming down the hallway right now. Stay fucking still, ass. You don’t need to be anywhere near him anyway. He’s none of your business.” That, to be honest, pissed me off. I heard Harry scream and Raith winced but didn’t move to look or let me look.

                “He’s entirely my business. He is-,” he cut me off there with a growl and his skin flashed even lighter, his eyes sparked with anger, and he reminded me a bit of the images of gods I’d often seen, images of gorgeous, mighty, malevolent, uncaring creatures, soulless and bright with nigh on holy light. Once more I felt the deep, instinctual urge to get him away from Harry, to keep them separate. This was a dangerous creature, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a monster who had become far too adept at donning human skin. I wondered if Gard had any idea of how to dispose of such a creature as he was proven correct and Harry’s two friends came barreling into the room. I heard the quick pop crack pop of bullets and the sound of a sword being unsheathed, and supposed that they had found wherever their weapons had been disposed of.

                “Harry, I brought your staff, but we couldn’t find your blasting rod. It’s probably in there, but we didn’t think we had the time to find it after we heard all this commotion,” the woman said, and Harry laughed breathlessly.

                “Thanks, Murph,” he said, and then it was silent again but for the sound of hard breathing and magic and the clink of metal.

                “Don’t dare to call him yours,” Raith snarled. “Harry does not belong to anyone.” His hand was pressing a bit too hard against my chest again, the weight and the pressure making my breath come in labored heaves.

                “Except for you, yes?”

                “He’s not mine either. He is supposed to be free, like his mother,” he hissed, and I snapped at him. He finally lowered the pressure against my chest again, and I heard something that sounded like lightning and Harry screamed again. Wetness beaded in the corner of Raith’s blank white eyes and that truly did surprise me, but they were dry again so quickly that I was certain I’d only seen an illusion brought on by the dimly lit room.

                “As if you’d object to taking him.” Raith hit me, then, hard across my jaw, and my vision blinked white-black-white with pain. I tried to lunge up to hit him back, but he held me down with annoying ease.

                “Do not ever say that again. You have no idea what you are talking about, none at all.” He was a foolish creature, I decided, a foolish creature who criticized me for his own faults. “You speak of loving him, but do you really? I say you just want to play with him. You want to have your fun with him and then toss him aside. You want to leave a few scars of your own on him because obviously he doesn’t have enough already, you damned bastard.” His face was tight and his eyes were slowly fading from white to silver. His shoulders were tense and wavering, and I could see, somewhere within him, that he didn’t quite buy the words he was spouting, but he was… he was hoping they were true. Why in the world would he want that to be true? If he cared for Harry as he said he did, then wouldn’t he want him to be loved, to be happy?

                “It seems that you’re the one who lacks knowledge in this particular discussion, Raith.” I paused when I heard what sounded like a front entrance being bashed down, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of familiar booted feet, and then heard the sound of an equally familiar voice. Hendricks, with Gard with him if I had to hazard a guess. It seemed my own cavalry had come after all. More wild noise, more gunshots, and it didn’t seem as if the battle were dying down at all. I took comfort in the fact that I could still periodically hear Harry, even if I couldn’t see him. “I love Harry; I want to have him and hold him forever, not throw him away.” Thomas’ eyes clenched shut and when they opened again they were the color of storm clouds.

                “Damn it, of course you do. That’s what really scared me. I don’t think you’d let him go, even if he wanted to leave. I think you’d hold onto him with everything you had as soon as your claws dug in deeply enough, and you’ve got a hell of a lot. I feel your lust from a mile away, did feel it the whole time we were in that cell, even from the first moment I met you. You want things, Marcone. You want _everything_ and then you want more. That terrifies me, Marcone.” I watched him carefully, watched his shuttered eyes, and wondered. Why did he care so much? They’d only just met; I knew that much despite what they’d tried to tell me. I wondered, too, at what he’d said, because often I feared the same thing. I feared that I would be unable to keep the darker parts of myself, the parts I tucked and pinned and hid and shadowed in the deepest depths of my mind, at bay. I worried that I’d clip his wide wings, that I’d muzzle him somehow, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to bear that. I wanted him wild, I wanted him happy, but I also wanted him under my protection, in my household. I wanted him safe. I didn’t know what parts of that I’d have to compromise to get the others and I didn’t know if I’d even be able to compromise anything. Harry made me a little crazy, I could admit.

                “Why do you care so much?” I finally asked Raith, “Why does he matter to you?” I looked into his eyes and if he’d been like Harry I’d have seen his soul. He looked as if he could see mine anyway, and looked as if he didn’t like what he’d seen.

                “You love him, right? If that’s true, then promise me that you will never repeat what I’m about to tell you.”

                “I swear it on whatever you’d like me to swear upon,” I said, and he nodded, took a deep breath, and spoke.

                “Harry is my half-brother. We share a mother, Maggie LeFay, but his father was a stage magician and mine is the White King. I’ve known about him since I was a child, but it was only after I saw him at that party, heard his name and saw his pentacle, that I knew he was my brother. I sought him out after that, and fraternizing with him got me exiled, so he’s letting me stay with him until I can get enough green to pay my own way.” No. Something like that I couldn’t… brothers? How could they be? Raith laughed, bitter and perhaps a bit cold, entirely human pain twisting his features. He wore the guise well, I had to say.

                “I don’t buy it,” I told him, and he nodded.

                “I know. It surprised me too, when I met him. I expected someone cruel. I expected an average Wizard who’d try to kill me on sight just because he could, just because I’m not human. Instead I got… I got him, the moron who let me into his home and his soul just because I knew some names and flashed a pentacle that matches his. He’s a fool, but he’s a brilliant, wonderful fool. His light is so… all encompassing. Impossible to miss and impossible to ignore. I’ve never, ever even imagined that I could share blood with a man like that. It’s all I can do not to get burned sometimes, when I look at him or when I touch him.” His mouth wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were. He really… my god, but it was true. They were brothers, and that vampire, that… _monster_ loved him.

                “This doesn’t mean you deserve him,” I finally said, and his smile moved from his eyes to his mouth.

                “I never claimed that I did or that I do. You don’t either, though. You’re just as much of a monster as me, just a different kind. Seems like he attracts them, huh? He’d be better off if he just stuck to the Michaels and the Murphys in the world, though. Can you at least see why I have to protect him now, you bastard?” I could.

                “Indeed. However, I love him as well; I too wish to protect him.” Thomas snorted but I hardly heard it over a sudden thud and Harry’s whoop of victory.

                “I don’t think we’re ever going to get along, Johnny. Just, like, don’t start waxing poetic about his gams and his chassis. And I’m going to keep trying to get rid of you, just so you know.” He finally stood and removed his hand from my person, and was even polite enough to help me up afterwards. I gave him my most polite smile in return (and it was perfectly real, I assure you, real as ever, real as anything) as Harry and company began walking over to us.

                “I must say that that sentiment is mutual, Mr. Raith,” I managed just before they reached us, and Harry gave the man a wobbling hug and a smile.

                “He dead?” Harry snuffled and swayed, one of his hands groping out wildly and finally landing on Carpenter’s shoulder to prop himself up.

                “Stones, no. He just disappeared with Kumori after we got him on the ground. For all I know that wasn’t really him at all; he’s way better at illusory magic than me, which is probably pretty ironic considering I had a father who specialized in tricks of the eye.” Thomas sighed as Harry wavered again, his eyes going momentarily wide and far away, and Michael finally just gave in and picked him up before he inevitably fell on his ass. My chest squirmed angrily and Raith gave me a sharp, sidelong look that no one else bothered to notice.

                “What the hell happened to you over there, Dresden?” Raith questioned and Harry giggled, high and keening, as Hendricks and Gard began to check me over.

                “I might’ve maybe used just a tiny bit too much magic, possibly. But only a very little. I want a nap.” I watched Gard’s blonde eyebrows creep up towards her hairline, Hendricks' hand settled thoughtlessly over her shoulders, and she laughed a bit.

                “I can only imagine, Mr. Dresden. A lesser mage would have been killed were they to even consider expending the energy I have seen you expend here today. I am surprised you have yet to start tapping into your very life force.” Harry giggled again, body limp and legs swinging, and Murphy gave him a good swat over the head.

                “I did, a little. Just a tiny, tiny bit. A little’s okay. Still have enough for a death curse. I’m… Murphy would beat me up if I died. And… and Michael would have to pay for my funeral, so I’m not allowed. ‘M sorry, though. ‘S my fault. Shouldn’t have… should’ve just been me here. ‘M sorry. Don’t leave?” Thomas ran a hand almost lovingly through the limp man’s hair and he sighed, watched Ms. Murphy stare at him with something like pain in her bright blue eyes.

                “You’re an idiot,” she said affectionately, and he smiled one more time.

                “I know.” And then he was out, totally asleep, and Hendricks shook his head and kept his hand firmly on my shoulder as if he thought I’d try something. I regret, sometimes, having a right hand who knows me so damn well.

                “Ms. Gard, I believe we are on an island in Lake Michigan, are we not?” She nodded.

                “A lovely deduction, to be sure. We must leave very soon, however; this island does not like intruders.” I’d heard quite a lot of strange things within the past few weeks, and honestly an antisocial island could no longer rank in the top ten, and so I didn’t ask. Instead, I just followed Gard and Hendricks outside, Michael and Harry along with Murphy and Thomas on my heels. I did at least have the preparedness of mind to tell all of the other beings in the room that I would have transportation sent back to them the moment I reached the mainland, and they did not argue. I was quite certain that they were mostly just happy to be alive at all, the small, balding man who paced and glanced periodically at Harry’s limp form obviously one of the chief among them. I wondered who he was but supposed that it mattered little, at least not until he stopped me with a quick hand on my arm.

                “We’re not friends,” he told me, and I raised my eyebrows.

                “You and I? So I realized.” He sighed.

                “No. No, me and Dresden. We’re not. He’s too damned dangerous. I told him to stay away from me years ago, after he nearly got me killed the first time. I’m a coward. I’m at least not afraid to admit that much. I’m weak; I’m just an Ectomancer. He and I aren’t friends. But just… look, make sure he doesn’t die. The city needs him. He takes care of it, of the stuff the rest of us can’t.”

                “Who are you?” I asked him, and he bowed his head.

                “Mortimer Lindquist. I do séances and things like that, but I’m a… Harry would call me a medium hitter. I’m no small timer, but I’m not strong enough to do what he does. All I can do is summon ghosts, basically. Just don’t let him die, okay?” He was more than he claimed and even I could see that hiding behind his shady dark eyes. I did believe that he and Harry weren’t friends, though, at least not anymore. I inclined my head towards him nonetheless.

                “If he’ll let me,” I told him, and he nodded once before he turned and went back to his place. Strange little man, I decided, and went on my way outside.

                The island was pretty, a little warmer than the mainland and covered in wild plants and trees and other such things. I stumbled in places I’m certain I wouldn’t have normally as I walked, feeling almost as though the very earth were changing as I walked, but such a thought was simply foolish. Still, Gard led the way to a small boat and helped us all climb aboard, and as it was my boat I directed Mr. Carpenter to the on board bedroom where he could lay Harry. The man’s toes still hung off the edge of the bed despite its size, and the sight was something like adorable. I took a seat in the chair beside the bed and Carpenter watched me with guarded eyes.

                “Just giving him a bit of company, Mr. Carpenter. Nothing for you to worry yourself over. Please, go keep Ms. Murphy and Mr. Raith company.” He stepped over to the door, looking as if he were preparing to do just that, but then he paused and turned his soulful brown eyes to my face.

                “It’s not often that I meet a man like you, Mr. Marcone,” he said, and I let my eyebrow rise.

                “A man like what, Mr. Carpenter?”

                “One who makes me question my own judgment of character. One moment you appear to me as the most trustworthy man I’ve ever met and the next you seem to lie with every other word. Rather a lot like Harry himself, if I’m to be honest.” I chuckled.

                “He lies?” I asked, hardly believing it. Really, he seemed the sort who’d have some obvious tell if he lied, the sort who’d be theatrical and make a show of it.

                “Constantly. More to himself than anyone else, perhaps, but the sentiment is the same. He’s a good man, though, one of the best. Something makes me want to say the same of you,” he told me, warmth flooding his eyes, and such a thing was quite strange to me. Why would he trust me with Harry when none of his other friends did? I found myself liking the man marginally more as he opened the door and left, and I took Harry softly by the hand. His fingers twitched around mine and made me smile, my mouth lowering down to press a delicate kiss to his cheek. He deserved sweetness, I decided, he deserved my gentle side, my weak side. He deserved every part of me that I could spare for him, every piece of my heart and my mind and my attention. However he wanted them from me. I kissed the corner of his mouth and his lips twitched up into a small smile. It was nice to see him having sweet dreams, after the nightmare.

                “You’re such a strange man, you know. Perhaps that’s why I like you so damned much. It was odd of me to see a man like you and simply want you, but that’s what happened. Noble men, good men, they don’t come along often in my line of work. I treasure them where I find them. You, though, you’re an entirely different sort of treasure, one of the highest order. You don’t understand that, though. You don’t see yourself that way. It’s almost funny, really; you’ve shown me how smart you are more than once. You’ve got a quick mind and a quicker tongue, but you use them for everyone but yourself, don’t you? You don’t think you deserve the affection you get, but I promise you that you do. You deserve it all and more. I want to keep you, Harry, but I won’t. If I kept you then you would cease to be yourself. You would not be nearly so… fascinating if you were tamed to my hand. I want you wild, Harry, I want you this way, but I also want you to accept me. I want you to realize that you need me, and you do, Harry, you do. You need someone like me who’s willing to play on the less moral side of the fence. You need someone who can truly take care of you, look after you when you won’t do it yourself.” I squeezed his hand a bit more tightly, and he groaned, his eyes slowly fluttering under his lids.

                “Murphy?” he murmured, and I chuckled.

                “I’m afraid not,” I said, and he groaned again, jerking his hand weakly. I pretended not to notice and he gave up, too tired to move too much at that particular moment.

                “John,” he grumbled, “What the hell? Lemme go.”

                “I’d rather not,” I said, running my thumb over the underside of his wrist. “I really do love you, Harry.”

                “No you don’t. You’re saying what you think I want to hear so I’ll like you or work for you or whatever else. I see what’s going on in that twisty brain. Oh, hey, he’s a sad lonely orphan! If I tell him I love him I can get him to do anything! I’m not that pathetic, though. I’ve got enough people who care about me.” I wondered what god I’d managed to piss off enough that He cursed me with falling in love with such a frustrating man. I’d had far easier options out there, but now, no. I’d only have Harry; I’d have the best or I’d have nothing. That had always been something of a character flaw of mine, I supposed.

                “I would not lie about this, Harry. I do love you, so much. Ever since that first day, Harry. I’ve heard it called love at first sight.” He snorted.

                “You’re a bastard, Marcone.”

                “What happened to John, Harry?” I asked, and he rolled his eyes.

                “It doesn’t annoy you, so I don’t see the point. Now stop calling me Harry.” I was about to reply when the door opened and Ms. Gard stepped inside. She sat on the chair on the other side without an invitation, and Harry gaped at her for a moment before he just shook his head. “Whatever. Obviously you and everyone who works for or with you are really rude. I’ll stop questioning it.”

                “I was not attempting to be rude, Mr. Dresden. I simply wanted to check you over, yes? You suffered a rather serious drain of your magic. In addition to that, I have come to inform you that due to our assistance with the destruction of that sacrifice, the White Council is in our debt, and as you are a member of said Council, I would like to request that you be the one to repay said debt.” He stared.

                “What.” Blank, clear, confused. I laughed into my arm.

                “I’m the Baron of Chicago now, Harry. Fully Accorded.”

                “Oh, hell no. Hell’s Bells, I just… Hell’s _Bells._ What even? How?”

                “Much of that was my doing, Mr. Dresden. I have a very powerful employer who finds Mr. Marcone to be a very intriguing mortal, and as such was willing to help him set the precedence. However, you have yet to respond to my request that you be the one to repay his debt.” He was wide-eyed and surprised, perhaps a bit nervous and rabbit-like. He shifted a little but it seemed to hurt him so he stopped. Gard let her hand hover over his body for a few moments, nodding thoughtfully the entire time.

                “Well, yeah, I mean… the Baron, really?”

                “Indeed. I thought that it would help me secure my base of power here a bit better, you see, and so I got myself signed on.” He just shook his head bemusedly, but then let a crooked little smile curl his lips.

                “Okay then, whatever. If you want to go to all those boring meetings, that’s your problem. Anyway, what do you want? The Council might try to kill me or something if I don’t do it, so lay it on me.” That was… surprisingly painless. I’d thought he’d fight me more on the matter, but he seemed almost relaxed. Gard moved her hand from above him and he turned his gaze to her.

                “No permanent damage, but you were correct in the circle; you had tapped into your core. Not much, but some. I question why, when you had such a well of strength below you.”

                “It wasn’t mine to draw on. That’s wild magic, in that well. Probably as close to true magic as I’ll ever get. I’m dumb, I’ll admit that, but I’m nowhere near dumb enough to try messing with that.” She smiled as I thought about my request, small and wry, and I was almost upset that the two of them seemed to get on so well.

                “True enough, I suppose.” He nodded.

                “Hey, you’re a Valkyrie, right? So that powerful employer you mentioned… Odin, maybe?” Her laugh was primal, it always had been. I kept thinking; how could I best use this debt? What could I do to draw him to me without at the same time shoving him away, setting off his instincts to not be owned?

                “He has not gone by that name in many years, Wizardling. He is retired. Or, semi-retired I suppose would be a better term for it.” Harry sniffed.

                “I’ve heard a lot of weird stuff in my life, but semi-retired gods?”

                “More common than you’d think. I had dinner with Coyote a few weeks ago. I believe he calls himself Mr. Howe now. ” Harry crowed with more laughter, then shook his head.

                “Small world, I guess. You decided yet, Johnny boy?” I thought… yes, perhaps I had.

                “I’d like you to go on an outing with me. I’ll not be putting on the Ritz, obviously, but something simple, something cheap.” I didn’t want to trigger his instinct against being bought either. I’d have plenty of time to give him things later. He looked a little surprised, a little puzzled, but finally he just nodded.

                “Alright. I can manage that pretty easily, I guess. When?”

                “Tomorrow afternoon?”

                “Sure. I’ll keep the schedule free.” And that was that. I had a date with one Harry Dresden. One forced by a debt, yes, but I had a date. Perhaps, I thought a bit wickedly, I’d manage to steal myself another kiss. His lips had been hard candy sweet, if a bit chapped, and his body had felt lovely in mine. I released his hand and decided instead to pat his cheek, a smile curling on my lips.

                “Thank you, doll. I suppose I’ll leave you to rest for a while, then. Come along, Ms. Gard.” He gaped at me and seemed prepared to rage about the indignity of it all, but I escaped through the door too quickly for him to respond. Life, I decided, had thrown me some strange curveballs recently, but I couldn’t bring myself to be upset by that. If anything, I was overjoyed; I felt younger, happier than I had in years, ready to face the world and all its oddities so long as I had Harry Dresden, noble, fiery, beautiful, intelligent Harry Dresden at my side.

* * *

 

Harry’s POV

                We reached solid ground about an hour after that, or at least that’s what Murphy told me as she woke me up, hauled me from the bed, and walked me to the shore. I’m sure we made something like a clownish sight, nearly seven foot tall me using five foot her as a crutch, but it worked well enough until she helped me sit on the mucky, muddy ground by the lake. Marcone reached us moments later, a calm smile curling his lips. He really was too… too something. Too smooth and too in control and too himself, somehow looking barely ruffled after our particularly interesting few days. He crouched down in front of me, careful to touch the messy ground with nothing but the bottoms of his shoes.

                I could hardly believe that I’d let such an amazing bastard kiss me; it was ridiculous, and more ridiculous was the fact that I’d kissed him back. Obviously a stressful situation could do funny things to a man, and he was… well, he wasn’t ugly. I didn’t like him, though; I hated him. And he was just trying to use me anyway, why else would he waste his favor on something like a single outing? He wasn’t an idiot. Besides, he was… he scared me, a little. How had he known about me for so long when I’d missed him? How had I not recognized that the stranger with his face covered that day in the alley had been him? As a matter of fact, how had I not recognized him the moment I saw him in the 1914? Had I just not wanted to? And now… now he was a _baron._ My thoughts were all muddled and messy, and Murphy simple watched the man, my reaction, or interaction, with all seeing blue eyes.

                “You’re feeling better now, I trust?” I snickered quietly, just a little.

                “I might be able to make a spark in a pinch. I’m still tired as hell, though. I guess you’re the one driving us all home?” He smiled and held out a hand. I took it warily as he helped me stand, but he seemed unwilling to let go of me once I was on my feet. Murphy took me by the loose sleeve of my jacket.

                “Most certainly,” he said, looking a bit distant and thoughtful, and he was surprisingly quiet on the way to my apartment. The really surprising part, I guess, was that he dropped Thomas and I off first, and he and Thomas even seemed to part on vaguely civil terms! It was strange as all hell. Still, I guessed I shouldn’t complain. I was nowhere near awake enough to be my usual witty self with Marcone (he was too clever, damn it; I couldn’t go up against him with anything less than my best, which had obviously been proven when he convinced me of his request to pay off the debt so damn fast) and I was even less prepared to break up a fight between the two men. Anyhow, after his car pulled away, I went directly to bed and Thomas actually tucked me in, which made me laugh hard as I fell back off into sleep. That’s the thing about using too much magic, I guess; you’re tired enough to sleep for a year. I figured I’d get a week to myself to recover, and that was only if I was lucky. Stupid planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gams-legs  
> Chassis-the body, usually an attractive one  
> Putting on the Ritz-going all out, doing something in high style


	11. Chapter 11

                It wasn’t a date. You can say it was all you want, but it wasn’t. I promise, and I’m a pretty trustworthy guy, right? I think so. I mean, you know, primarily. Shut up. Anyway, the next day Thomas woke me up relatively early with food and a smile, so I couldn’t even manage to be annoyed about it. Thomas is like that sometimes, I think; impossible to be angry with. I ate with him, my body aching miserably because damn it, I’d exerted myself plenty yesterday, and I felt just a little empty and a lot vulnerable with my magic so drained. My pathetic sighing did get Thomas to rub my neck for me, though, and that was definitely a plus. He’s got magic hands, I swear; it might just be the whole White Court thing (and isn’t that funny, that something I’d thought was so important when I met him not too long before had become nothing more than ‘that thing’) but I really don’t care. It’s too awesome.

                Anyway, I let him do that, listened to him hum some upbeat song I didn’t know the words to, and managed to relax myself pretty well during the period. In fact, I was so overjoyed and invigorated once he had transformed my back into something that more resembled a spine than a collection of very skillful knots that I went back into my bedroom and got dressed in my good clothes. Not because I wanted to impress Marcone, of course, but more because I didn’t want to embarrass myself too badly when he inevitably brought me to some overpriced place filled with people with porcelain faces and expensive outfits. Which isn’t to say that my good clothes could compare in any way, of course; my definition of ‘good’ was that the pants covered my ankles and the shirt wasn’t stained too awful egregiously. I made it a point not to wear any of the clothes he’d bought me, though. Thomas still looked shocked when I came back into what served as my living room, though.

                “Wow, what’s the occasion? Do you always stop dressing like a tramp for a day when you go through a near-death situation?” I rolled my eyes and gave him a brotherly punch on the arm. He gave me one in return, as was commanded by the Sacred Law of Brothers.

                “Marcone’s having me go out with him,” I said. “Apparently he’s the Baron of Chicago now, and so the White Council owes him out the ass for helping break that ritual up. Me, being part of the White Council, drew the lucky card of repaying him. He’s not asking for as much as he could, though.” Thomas sniffed.

                “What could he possibly be owed for anyway? All he did was get flung across the room.” I smiled and laughed a little.

                “Yeah, well, the Council won’t see it that way. He was there, and he did help, so technically he’s eligible for compensation equal to the life of every Wizard he saved that day, me included.” Thomas raised his eyebrows.

                “Damn.”

                “Damn is right,” I said, stretching my back on the couch and yawning loudly. “Still, it’s a day of my time. I think I can manage to not kill the bastard for that long.” He gave me a smile, thin and wan, his nerves creasing his face just a little.

                “It isn’t really him I’m worried about,” he said, and I’d have responded to that, probably very sarcastically and maybe a little defensively, but someone knocked on my door and I knew exactly who it was. I stood and opened it, and on the other side stood Marcone, dressed way down in a clean button down and slacks, a bouquet of strangely colorful flowers of all sorts held loosely in one hand. I stared and he smiled.

                “You didn’t seem to care for the roses. Ms. Gard suggested that I try some with a bit more meaning,” he said, and then tossed the flowers towards me. Now, I wouldn’t have normally taken them, but when someone throws something at you, your first instinct is to catch it, and that’s exactly what I did. And they were pretty, I had to admit, and I could probably use some of them for something or another, so I brought them into my kitchen, filled a cup with water, and settled them inside. “You look quite nice, by the way. I didn’t expect you to break out the glad rags for me.” I turned to stare at him and he seemed to realize what he’d said. “Your going out clothes, Harry.” Oh. Okay then. I shrugged.

                “I figured you’d insist on going somewhere that smelled like rich people and stock markets, and despite popular belief, I don’t actually enjoy looking like a moron. Even if I am sometimes.” He smiled and held out his arm for me. I pointedly didn’t take it, instead just waved goodbye to Thomas and stepped outside with him.

                “Actually, I’d planned for a picnic, if you’re amenable to that.” A picnic. Gentleman Johnny Marcone wanted to take me out for a picnic. I doubled over with laughter, my lips peeling back from my teeth in sheer joy, and it was just… it was ridiculous, it was madcap, it was insane! It was… Hell’s Bells, it was my life personified. One strange little wrinkle after another, one explosion that just prepped me for another that was just a tiny bit larger. It was confusing as all hell, but it was… really, I should’ve been used to it by that point. It was, after all, my life.

                “Yeah,” I finally managed through the laughter, “That sounds… it sounds good, Johnny.” And he just _beamed,_ his smile fast and wild and that wasn’t his smile, that was Milano’s smile. It was strange to see it on that other face. I’m no different than I was when you liked me, Harry; I’m the same man, I heard him whispering in the back of my head, and for a moment, I almost believed it.

                “Wonderful!” he said, leading me over to what I guess was his favorite car, the little cherry red thing, and I climbed into the passenger seat. He let the roof back and drove fast, my hair tangling into knots behind me with the wind, and I noticed the basket in the backseat. It was wicker and looked homemade. I wondered whose it was originally because it looked old.

                “You’re going to get a ticket!” I yelled over the wind before I realized who I was talking to, and he laughed.

                “You think so?” I didn’t, now that I thought about what I’d said.

                “Nope!” I yelled back, and he laughed again as he whipped into a lot that was near enough to the park nearby my house that walking was possible. He carried the basket over towards a tree with shadowing branches, and I let my arms swing loosely. My rings felt comfortingly heavy on my fingers since I knew that magic wasn’t exactly a thing I could do at that particular moment, and I saw Marcone watching my hands as he pulled out a thick, quilted blanket and set up a place for us to sit. I helped him set up the food just so I’d have something to do.

                “It’s rare that I see a man wearing so much jewelry. Can I ask what they are?” I cocked my head and shrugged.

                “The rings or the bracelet?”

                “Both, I suppose. Your pentacle I understand for its sentimental value, but the rest… it’s quite strange.” That made another genuine laugh tease its way out of my throat, because really? All he’d seen me do, and it was my jewelry that confused him?

                “Really? My rings and my bracelet? _Those_ are the weirdest things about me? Whatever, Johnny; they’re for protection, mostly. The rings store force, and I can use them even when I’m all tapped out magic-wise, so they just make me feel a little safer. I can’t explode anything, but I can damn well throw something through a few buildings, you know? The bracelet sort of stores magic too, but it works better if I can funnel some magic to it too. It’s called a shield bracelet, for obvious reasons; I can use it to make kind of a protective barrier.” I held out my hand and shook it so the bracelet jangled and the silvery rings caught the afternoon sunlight.   

                “Pretty,” he murmured, his fingers tracing around the ring on my index finger. I shrugged.

                “They’re more for function than beauty. The only thing I wear because I think it’s pretty is my pentacle. You know what’s weirder though?” I asked him as I made myself something like a sandwich with the food he’d brought.

                “What?” he asked me, and I grinned widely, wondering why I felt so damn comfortable. I shouldn’t have; I should’ve been uncomfortable and I should’ve disliked his company but I simply didn’t. He was the worst kind of person; a man who was easy to like but hard to live with liking. Still, if anyone asked I could just say that I was only trying to get through the meeting as painlessly as possible. That was a good reason for playing nice, I decided. Besides, like this, it was hard not to be reminded of the easy time I’d spent with him before, when he called himself by another name.

                “You,” I said. “It’s weird that you’re still so… energetic, I guess is a good way to put it. Still so alive. The people around here, especially ones with as much money as you have, it seems like they wear out early. Like, they’re wild when they’re young, through their twenties and sometimes their thirties, but then it’s like they’re drained, like they’re shells. Too much drinking and too much partying and too much living all at once. You, though… it doesn’t seem like it hit you.” He smiled.

                “I wasn’t always wealthy, you know. As a child, I lived with only my mother and my grandmother, as my grandfather had died and my father was a drunkard who’d long been anywhere but my life. They struggled, admittedly; my mother, being a woman, could only be hired in a very select few positions, and even those were slimmed a bit due to the fact that she was an Italian immigrant and her English could sometimes be a bit shaky. My grandmother didn’t speak the language at all, and so she was obviously out of the question for work. Because of this I worked from a very young age, and got involved in my current profession younger than most. I wasn’t the previous Boss’ son or anything of the sort; I was a grunt, I was nothing. I fought my way to where I am now; I orchestrated a coup of the former family, and while they do still operate here, it is generally only on my terms, and I am actively working to fully eliminate them from Chicago’s equation. I actually only had my first drink about ten years ago, if you want to know the real truth of the matter. What about you, Harry? You seem rather uninvolved in the life.” I smiled and took a bite of my sandwich; the food was good and fresh, the lettuce and the tomato I’d used tasting crisp on my tongue.  

                “Me? I’m dirt broke, and even if I wasn’t, my foster father, Eb was… outspoken, I guess you could say, about the party life. He used to tell me all about how the normal lifestyle I see here could’ve gotten a person hanged or beheaded or any number of things when he was a teenager.” Marcone looked a bit confused.

                “Harry, may I ask how old your foster father was?” I chuckled just a little, a smile curling my lips, and my god, but I was having fun. This was fun. I was having fun with Marcone. It was a shock to my system, confusing and worrying.

                “He’s still alive, you know. Anyway, he knew Queen Anne, if that tells you anything. He was Scottish. Is Scottish, I mean. You can’t hear it anymore, though. He’s lived in Missouri for too long. He still looks after me, in a way. Offers to send me money, keeps me updated on when there’s going to be a Council meeting and whether or not it’s safe for me to play hooky from one of them.”

                “He’s at least… my god, two hundred years old, then?” I nodded.

                “Yup. He’ll be five hundred and sixty-five next month, actually. Like I said, Wizards have long lifespans. If he takes care of himself, he could have another couple of hundred years, at least. I’m still practically a baby by Wizard standards. I probably won’t be nearly so long-lasting, though. I piss too many people off; Wizards get to live that long because they stay hidden, you know? They work from the shadows normally. I don’t. I’m open, so I’m vulnerable. That’s alright, though.” He took a bite of his own concoction, something that had a lot of things on it that I neither recognized nor trusted.

                “Is it truly?” he asked me, and I nodded.

                “Yeah. I get to help people while they’re sitting on their asses and getting old. I’d pick that over reaching the big 1-triple-zero any day.” That made Marcone smile and touch my wrist softly. I let him.

                “I think that’s something I like about you, Harry. Such a good man.”

                “You’ve said that before.” His lip turned halfway up, but not all the way.

                “And I will continue to say it until you believe me.” I could see him see me thinking about just how long that would probably take, because I wasn’t a good man, not really. I’d done terrible things, terrible, terrible things, and I had the nightmares to prove it.

                “Good luck with that,” I murmured, and leaned against the tree a little. “I think maybe we’re both kind of weird,” I said, and I thought about what he’d told me. It was more… personal than I’d been expecting. He made it hard to dislike him, when he made me think of a poor young man fighting his way to the top, fighting his way into success. It was the kind of story I normally liked, normally supported, but he was… damn it; I hated how easily he could make me like him. I hated how easy it was to let my guard down with him and smile like it was nothing, to laugh open and free and normal and be happy. He smiled at me and leaned against the tree as well, our legs nearly touching.

                “Mr. Raith really does love you, you know.” Well, that was… odd. “Ms. Murphy does too, as does Mr. Carpenter.”

                “I know. They’re my friends; I love them too. Without them, I’d be… I don’t know what I’d be. Lost, mostly.” He looked at me seriously, eyes turning to a forest fire in the sunlight.

                “I won’t take them from you,” he told me, and it sounded almost like he was conceding something, like he was giving me a victory. I wanted to tell him thank you, for some reason, but I didn’t because that just would’ve been silly. There was nothing to thank him for. “I’ll look after them for you as well. Perhaps not as much as I’ll look after you, but they won’t be harmed under my watch.” I reached out for reasons unknown even to me and squeezed his knee. I shouldn’t be so relaxed. I shouldn’t like him. I thought about all the other things I’d done that were stupid ideas, things that had turned out great and wonderful and become the best things in my life, and proceeded to turn, to bend, and to kiss him once on the cheek, soundly and finally.

                “Thank you,” I told him, a smile pressed onto my face, and he touched where my lips had been.

                “Harry?” he asked me, and I shrugged.

                “I like the sentiment even if I don’t like you. You’re maybe not quite as much of a dick as I thought. Maybe. You’re still a pretty big dick, though. Besides, it’s a lot harder to think of you as… well, as nothing but a criminal, when you tell me about you and listen to me babble and talk about how you’ll look out for my friends.”

                “I’d listen to anything you had to say any day, Harry; as I’ve said, you’re so damned interesting. Everything about you is a departure from normal. It’s… refreshing, to say the least of the matter.” He leaned a little closer to me and I let him. I don’t know why; he’s an ass, but I didn’t… something made me think he wasn’t out to injure me. I was still a little wary, though; he had, after all, lied to me and had me followed for over a year without my knowledge. That’s obviously not something I can just forget about. He settled a hand softly on my wrist and I leaned my head back, let my eyes list closed. And then someone came over, his voice loud and maybe a little grating, and I sort of recognized it so I let my eyes open again, and yeah, I did recognize that guy! He was one of those… damn it, what did Murphy call them again? Oh, yeah! Drugstore cowboys! He accosted Murphy pretty much every time we saw him!

                “Murph isn’t with me today, mister,” I told him, yawning a little, and he crouched in front of me, his thick eyebrows furrowed just a little. I decided to dub him Eyebrows.

                “Who?” he asked me, and I cocked my head. How had he whistled at her so often and not known what her name was? That was sort of strange; I mean, he’d asked her for a kiss every time he caught a sidelong glance of her.

                “The blonde?” I asked, “With blue eyes. She’s short, pretty much always with me?” He shrugged.

                “Oh, yeah, the little girly, I remember. Who’s this sap, though, baby? And where’s his cheaters? You ought to know better than going out without ‘em, old man. You’re gonna get run over if you’re not careful!” Marcone put on his Boss Face, his lip pulled up in something like a sneer and his arms crossing hard over his chest. I had managed to get that Eyebrows had insulted him, and called him old (which was really funny, because he had to be in his late thirties and maybe early forties himself, or maybe he just looked older than he was because he appeared pretty adept at slang and such), but beyond that I was mostly lost.

                “Have you got a beef with me? Get lost, why don’t you? We’re busy.” Eyebrows laughed.

                “Oh, we got a bimbo here, don’t we? Oh, I know, you’re an egg ain’t ya! Too good to bother with little old me, right? Ah, come on, doll. Let’s scram. I got a car and a guy who can drive us, and you and me can have it out in the struggle buggy. You want a ciggy?” he asked, and I stared, my mind running a mile a minute to try and catch up to what had happened. The most I managed to figure out was that ciggy meant cigarette. Yes, I know, that was a really impressive deduction, huh? I figured it out because he was holding a pack of them out to me.

                “I don’t smoke,” I said, responding to the only thing I could understand, and Marcone snorted a little, settling his arm like a bar across my chest.

                “There’s nobody home with you, is there? It’s been some time since I’ve met such a fool. He isn’t interested,” he told him, and Eyebrows tensed his mouth and his jaw and glared at Marcone.

                “Who’re you to tell me that?” Eyebrows asked, and oh, Hell’s Bells, I wondered if I should be worried.

                “Johnny, drop it,” I told him, and I watched his eyes close a little, his body go tight. Some kind of understanding dawned on what’s his name’s face.

                “Johnny, like, Gentleman Johnny? Oh, oh shit. Sorry, I, look, you should keep your moll more under control. He’s been… he’s been making eyes at me for weeks! He’d have been all over me forever ago if not for that broad he goes around with.” What? I cocked my head at him, eyes maybe a little wide, because I was confused, damn it.

                “Huh? Weren’t you, you know, flirting with Murphy this whole time? You kept asking her for a kiss.” He seemed to think I was some kind of moron. That was probably the most accurate thought he’d ever had in his life.

                “No,” he said, “I was talking to you; she just kept answering for you. Seems like you got a lot of people to do that for ya, don’t ya? You all looks and no thoughts, baby? I always figured Johnny would go for the intellectual types, but I guess gentleman don’t like no whole lot of blabbing, do they? They’re men of _action,_ right? I am too, if you like that sort of thing.” Um? I had no idea of what to say to that, actually; Eyebrows should’ve been proud. He reduced me, of all people, to speechlessness. Marcone moved his arm from in front of me and twined it around my shoulders, giving me a quick pull sideways and against him. I might’ve yelped a little at the suddenness of it, and he smiled.

                “He obviously has no idea what you’re talking about, so how about you get a wiggle on before you get clipped.” Eyebrows looked vaguely pissed off.

                “You know this is a hot place, don’t you Johnny? Cops everywhere.”

                “And none of them looking in this direction. They know who I am. Now, I’ll tell you again; he is not interested in a fool like you.” Eyebrows clenched his fists, looking something close to ready to punch John directly in the face (which even I thought was really stupid at this particular moment, and I’d wanted to do it before), and I wondered what possible way there could be for me to diffuse this situation before fisticuffs became an issue.

                “Prove it,” he growled, and Johnny took my chin in his hand and pulled my mouth against his. I flailed for a second before I realized that actually, yeah, that probably would be a good way to get him to go away. I relaxed and let him, giving him the best kiss I could manage even though I hadn’t exactly had a whole lot of practice at it. It was only later that I would remember to be embarrassed because he did that in the middle of a park that I go to all of the time and underneath a tree that I sit under _all of the time._ There was no way that someone would be able to see me there again and not know that I was the guy Johnny Marcone kissed seemingly out of nowhere and for no particular reason. That wasn’t exactly a reputation I wanted, by the way. You know, just in case you thought there was any way in which I thought that could possibly be a good thing. Eyebrows stood there gaping for a minute, but then he turned tail and ran off. Johnny didn’t stop, though.

                If anything, he just pulled me closer, his arms sliding down to wrap around my waist and twist me around until I was close to being on his lap as I could be without being on his lap. I got this odd, weightless sensation when he did that, a fluttery feeling low in my stomach, and his hands slid down a little more and the fucker groped my ass. I yelped, and then felt him smile against my mouth as he pulled away with a final nip to my lower lip. I squirmed and he loosened his grasp but didn’t actually let me go.

                “Uh,” I said, trying to come with an explanation, an excuse. He just raised an eyebrow and pulled me against him a little more, gently maneuvered my head so that it was lying on his shoulder, my breath fluttering against his neck. His pulse sounded quick from there, thrumming like a drum within him, and my skin prickled a little, as if he were a live wire.

                “Hush for a moment, would you?” he asked me, sounding as if his voice were made of nothing but breath, as if it would drift away on the breeze if given half a chance.

                “Yeah,” I said, and I did hush, even as I felt his fingers trailing up and down my sides, across my back, over all of my vertebrae, as if he were mapping the planes of me. I laughed against his throat, sometimes, when he hit a particularly ticklish part, and it was strangely… comfortable. It felt like… well, it felt like it had with my girlfriends, simple and caring, learning and experimental. It made me want to move away, my skin crawling with the strangeness of it, but I felt limp and comfortable so I just sort of stayed there. Finally, he prodded me just a little and had me move to just sit beside him again, but he wrapped my hand in his and I let it stay that way and this was bad and wrong and a lot of other things, and I knew I should’ve stopped it, but I just… didn’t. I tried to rationalize it by saying I owed him the day, but something in my head kept telling me it wasn’t true, that I was staying because I wanted to, because he was clever and interesting and attractive and kind when he wanted to be and he kept saying he liked me. Not many people say that to me.

                We stayed there for maybe another half hour just kind of relaxing in the chill air and enjoying one another’s company (Stars but that’s a strange thought) before he had me help him pack up the things we didn’t use and he drove me back home. He pulled me down to his height at the door and I thought for sure that he was going to kiss me again (which I should’ve minded a hell of a lot more than I did) but he just pressed his lips softly to my forehead and then let me stand up straight again. He shook his head, a beguiled kind of smile on his face and a serious look in his eyes, and squeezed my hand once before he let me go.

                “Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured and I cocked my head. I didn’t know I was looking at him like anything.

                “Like what?”

                “With those wide eyes, like you thought I’d ravish you in your doorway. I don’t want you just for that, Harry; I can be sweet if you want sweet. It isn’t just sex,” he said, and I hadn’t thought it was, really. He took in whatever new expression I was making and laughed. “For a PI, you’re quite naïve, you know. I suppose I should just be grateful that you’re knowledgeable when it counts. Now, I had quite a good time today, and I believe you did as well. Would you like to do something again with me soon?” Oh. Well. I didn’t know. He was… he wasn’t one of the good guys; he was a liar and a thief and a killer. With gentle hands and pretty eyes and a nice smile, someone who didn’t mind it when I babbled and who laughed at my jokes and who didn’t look at me differently after he’d seen my soul and heard my past and who didn’t mind it when I was sarcastic at him. I hadn’t ever thought I’d find someone like that, and obviously when I did it had to be someone who I hated to like. I wasn’t supposed to like him. I shouldn’t have had fun that day. I did, though, and I had. That revelation didn’t make it any easier to say what I did next, though.

                “Okay,” I said. “In a few days. Murphy’s going to want to go out soon, to celebrate that we’re not dead, and I need to catch up on my work and my sleep.” His smile was bold and wild on his face, wide and truly, openly happy. He looked like I’d just turned his world upside down and he loved it. I shifted on my feet and pawed behind me for my doorknob.

                “Wonderful! I’ll call first, of course, after I get something together. I’ll see you soon, Harry, and I love you,” he told me, and I squirmed under the skin.

                “I… uh, yeah. Look, I don’t know if I can do the whole dating thing with you. It’s… it’s a lot to ask me for right now. But I do like you. You’re not so different from the man I thought you were after we met. We can try to be friends, okay? Like before.” He still smiled but there was a bitter edge to it now, a touch of darkness lurking just under the surface.

                “I’ll take what I can, and if friends is the best you’re willing to offer me, that’s alright. Enjoy the remainder of your day, Harry.” I nodded.

                “You too. John,” I said, testing the name on my tongue again, and it sounded okay, it didn’t sound like something world changing, so I figured it was alright. He left me with another smile as I opened my door and stepped inside. Thomas greeted me with a hard clap on the shoulder.

                “Not dead or molested?” he asked me, and thoughts of the kiss leapt across my mind for a split second. Apparently that was plenty of time because Thomas’ eyes narrowed.

                “He did that?” I nodded because I knew what he was talking about, because I should’ve known better than to think I could just not tell him about it.

                “I’m going to _kill_ him,” Thomas said, and I shook my head.

                “It’s alright. We came to an understanding; we’re going to be friends,” I said, and he stared at me incredulously.

                “Friends. Yeah, right, like I really buy that he’s going to settle for that. Empty Night, Harry, have you seen the way he looks at you? Just… can you do one thing for me?”

                “Anything,” I said, the word quick to fall off the tip of my tongue, and he scruffed my hair.

                “Thanks. Look, go to your lab and check out those flowers he gave you. Make sure there’s nothing funny about them. He does have access to a Valkyrie, after all; there’s no telling what he could’ve had done to them. I’d just feel better if I knew they were clean.” His worries were legitimate, if unfounded, and I knew that. Besides, I’d told him ‘anything’ and I wasn’t one to go back on my word. It’d hardly take five minutes to get Bob to check them over anyway, so I nodded.

                “Alright,” I said, going into the kitchen and plucking them from the cup I’d settled them in. They really were pretty, I decided, all fresh, mismatched colors and while they didn’t all smell exactly good, there was a sort of herby smell emanating from them that I liked and knew came from the sage I saw scattered among the other flowers. I carried them downstairs carefully and woke Bob up as quickly as I could, trying to stop them from dripping on the floor too much. The orange lights in the skull’s eyes blew wide as soon as he saw the flowers and I worried for a moment that he saw something bad about them.

                “Wow, someone really has the hots for you, Boss.” I stared at him.

                “What do you mean?” I asked, settling the flowers on my work table where he could see them easily.

                “What do you mean what do I mean? Do you have any idea what these mean?” Well, they weren’t roses, so I knew they didn’t mean, like, unending affection or something. Bob sighed, truly a magnificent feat for a formless cloud of orange smoke. “Okay, you have no idea. Didn’t you learn flower language?” he asked, almost frustrated, and I shrugged.

                “Well, yeah, but I forgot it years ago. Didn’t seem all that important compared to everything else that was going on.” I’m pretty sure Bob would’ve struck his head against the wall numerous times at that, if he could have.

                “Okay. Just… show them to me one kind at a time, and I’ll explain what they mean. After that, you’re definitely telling me who sent them for you.” I stuck my lower lip out and raised my head some.

                “Who says they’re even for me?”

                “The blush on your face,” he replied, ever helpful, and I just decided to glare at him after that. He didn’t seem to care, so I finally gave in and picked up a piece of the sage, the purple of the flowers bright and vibrant along the fresh green stem.

                “I know this one is sage,” I said, and Bob nodded.

                “Yup. Fresh sage, signifying wisdom and immortality.” I placed it down and went for one of the other two that I actually knew the identity of, the primroses. “When someone sends primroses, it means that they can’t live without the person they sent them to.” I thought that was kind of funny, given who I knew that had a garden full of the things. I wondered who she, of all people, couldn’t live without. I guess I probably should’ve been more confused by the fact that John Marcone sent them to me, but maybe he didn’t know what the flowers meant and just thought I’d appreciate the wide arrangement of colors and shapes of them. And then I remembered that he’d given them to me because he didn’t think I’d really liked the roses and that Gard had told him to try some with a bit more ‘meaning’. I picked up the last plant I actually recognized, the fern. “Ferns mean magic and fascination, so I guess whoever sent these knows you pretty well. Really cuts down my suspect pool,” he murmured.

                “That dick,” I grumbled, and honestly, I felt a little embarrassed. At least one of these probably meant something overtly sexual and Bob would laugh at me when he explained and I really didn’t want to deal with that just then. I can embarrass myself perfectly well without help. Bob laughed.

                “Aw, don’t say that about the love of your life!”

                “Shut up, stupid… bonehead.” Bob was silent for a minute, just taking in the fact that yeah, I really had said that. I stared at him, attempting to get across how totally not ashamed I was, and eventually he just sighed. In response to this admission of how clever I was, I picked up one of the other flowers, a simple, threadlike thing with an expansive web of puffy yellow flowers on the ends. Bob’s eyes flashed with amusement when he saw it, and when he next spoke I could hear the smirk in his voice.

                “Dill, meaning powerful against evil.” I decided to refrain from commenting until he’d identified them all. After all, I had gotten sort of curious, now. I picked up the next one, another yellow one, but this one was larger, with a bunch of flowers on a single stem that seemed to want to crowd one another out. “Yellow hyacinth, representing jealousy.” The next one I plucked up was relatively normal looking, pinky purple in the middle and fading to white at the tips of the rounded petals. “That’s gloxinia, which stands for love at first sight.” I really, really wanted to comment, I did. I didn’t know how much longer I could possibly avoid it.

                I picked up the next one, which looked sort of similar to the hyacinth, except for it was red and the flowers were shaped more like bells. Bob gave me another smirk. “Red salvia, which, when sent to another person, means forever mine.” That _bastard._ I bet he thought I wouldn’t check the stupid things and figure this out! I was maybe a little rougher than necessary when I picked up the next one, which was a really pretty shade of purple with sort of pointed petals that flowed up and down like waves. “Gladiolus, the flower of the gladiators. It also means sincerity, though.” How ironic, given how we met. I picked up the last one, which I had to admit was my favorite. It was strange, none of the flowers looking exactly like any of the others, and all of the petals white and uneven and sort of fuzzy looking. It sort of reminded me of a snow, I decided, of any normal flower covered in the stuff, and I was gentle when I touched it. It felt just as strange as it looked, not really soft or delicate like other flowers. “Edelweiss,” Bob said, “Courage and devotion.”

                “Such an ass,” I mumbled, and Bob laughed.

                “Well, come on, out with it! Who’s the lucky moron about to get saddled with you? Who was willing to bother going through a hundred million flower books finding these things? I mean, it isn’t like you can just pick a lot of these up in the corner flower shop. Ooh, they must be rich, too! Am I going to get to move somewhere nicer than this shitty basement?”

                “Are these enchanted in any way?” I asked, and Bob bounced his skull back and forth in the no gesture.

                “Nope. They’re just flowers. Flowers that I really want to know where came from!”

                “You wouldn’t know him,” I grumbled, and Bob gasped.

                “A man? Wow, Harry, didn’t know you had it in you!”

                “Shut _up._ He’s barely my friend; he’s a criminal.”

                “So are you, technically,” he chimed in happily. I really hated Bob sometimes.

                “I’m not a mob boss,” I growled, and Bob snickered.

                “Yeah, I know; you’re just about to, very literally, be in bed with the mob. You know, if these are any indication.” At that, I picked up my flowers and stomped back upstairs, his cackles following me the whole way.

* * *

 

Marco Vargassi’s POV

                Marcone was an idiot if he thought I’d ever bow down to him. He tried to play as if he were just cleaning up the streets, doing what the cops never could, but he was a liar and a fake. He was brutal and he was ruthless, all icy eyes and a firm hand. He crushed people, if they did anything to him. He broke them, he shattered them, he made them listen or he made them leave. He’d deposed me and my father and he’d put the damned scar on my fucking face, all for that stupid little girl, and I didn’t even know her goddamned name.

                He pretended he was noble, but he wasn’t. The papers call him gentleman, but he isn’t. The kids and the orphanages and the flophouses call him a saint, but he sure as _hell_ isn’t that. He’s dirty and he’s fucked up and he’s just like the rest of us, he’s just too arrogant, too good at wearing a mask, to show it. I wanted to kill him, but just then, that would’ve been as good as suicide. He was too strong, had too many allies, too many people who liked Chicago with him at the helm. I had a better idea, though; I couldn’t take him out, but the PI fucker, the one Pop liked… I could get him.

                Marcone liked him, for some damn reason, wanted him badly. I could see it in his face and his reactions; he wanted him. Johnny didn’t want people often. Of course, Pop wanted him too, but fuck him; we didn’t need the psycho anyway. I could use him, I could hurt Johnny boy with him, and all it’d take was a single bullet. Johnny had taken my face and my place, so I’d take his heart. It was only fair, really, a life for a heart. It’d be so easy, too; I heard about the people who didn’t like that PI all the time. He was nosy and he was friends with a few guys on the force, and if he even thought that someone might be getting hurt somewhere, he was there and he was breaking shit up. He’d shattered deal after deal for months, was still doing it, sometimes. There were plenty of guys out there willing to kill him. I wondered if Marcone would cry at his funeral; that’d be funny, if he did. Probably wouldn’t though, cold bastard.

                I stood from my bed and wandered over to my phone, fingers dialing a number I knew well. Mickey had been hanging around the little prick; he’d probably know his schedule, know where he’d be so I could have someone ice him. I wouldn’t even have to get a place ready for the body, since I wanted him found. Seemed like everything was conspiring for me, honestly. Anyway, Mickey had learned damn fast from past experience, so he picked up fast.

                “Hey, Marco,” he said, and I grunted.

                “Mickey. Look, I got a plan, yeah? I’m gonna take care of that guy who lives below you, piss Johnny off something fierce. Think you could tell me where he’s going to be at about this time in a day or so?” The line was silent for a minute or two, but then Mickey seemed to realize what was good for him, because he gave me the address to the fucker’s office, told me he liked hanging out in the park by his house, and even told me that he’d gotten a new roommate, some black haired guy with a pretty face. That made me laugh; looked like Johnny was finally getting outclassed in the bedroom department too. I’d shatter him, I decided, by the end of this. I’d take my crown back, I’d take Chicago back. My Pop was too much of a coward to do it, obviously, but I sure as hell wasn’t. I hung up on Mickey (he was weak, he’d always been weak. I didn’t speak with him unless I had to) and called a guy I liked far better, a friend of mine who killed who I asked and who didn’t ask questions about it. After that, I just relaxed and thought about how Johnny’s face would look when he found out; I couldn’t imagine it being anything but hilarious.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad rags-going out clothes  
> Cheaters-eyeglasses  
> Bimbo-tough guy  
> Egg-someone who lives the high life, someone wealthy  
> Struggle buggy-backseat of a car  
> Ciggy-cigarette  
> Moll-gangster’s girl/lover  
> Clipped-killed  
> A hot place-a place watched by law enforcement/under surveillance


	12. Chapter 12

Mickey’s POV

                Marco hung up on me and I stared at the dirty yellowed wall in front of me. My bed felt too hard and I felt a little numb. I’d probably been sitting too damn long. I wondered why Marco wanted Harry dead after his father had sent those gifts. I wondered if Harry’s new… new roommate would be able to do anything about it. I wondered if I should warn him or if I should keep my mouth shut and let it happen. I’d probably end up dead myself if I didn’t. I liked Harry. The roommate seemed weak, though, nothing but an empty suit, a pretty blank face. He’d smiled like smiles were nothing, a playboy sort of smile I was sure made women weak in the knees. I didn’t really like him, to tell the truth. Harry seemed to, though, and I wanted… he didn’t seem like he’d been happy enough. He sure as hell didn’t deserve to die.

                I couldn’t tell him, though. That was too dangerous; if Marco went after me for it, I couldn’t see how he could keep me breathing. He was a good guy, sure, smart and quick, lithe as an alley cat, but that didn’t mean much in a fight based on muscles and rage and guns. I wouldn’t let him die, though. I had to tell someone, someone with the capacity to keep me out of Marco’s way after I did it.

                I thought about my options, and honestly the best I could come up with was Gentleman John. He hated me, though, and all of Vargassi’s guys. Maybe for good reason, I didn’t know. He’d probably shoot me on sight without hearing what I wanted to say. No way could I go right to the top like that; it wasn’t done and I wasn’t that much of an idiot. Instead I decided I’d talk to Hendricks; he could be a little more levelheaded, and he had a direct line to Marcone, so he’d be best.

                I’d long known where he patrolled at this time; information like that was important for men like me. If we didn’t know where important people from opposing families were located, then they could kill us without us even knowing. I was good with knowledge like that; my memory was long and usually complete, so I was trusted with a lot. I climbed into my car and drove to a very particular side street, and yeah, there Hendricks was, a mountain of a man propped easily against the side of a brick building. He appeared to be looking at the sky, but I knew better; he played at being slow, at being dumb, but he didn’t miss much. I held my hands out nonthreateningly as I walked up to him, but he kept a wary, ready stance.

                “I’m not here for a fight,” I told him, and he snorted.

                “I already knew that. You’re a notorious coward, you know? I wouldn’t even know your name if the Boss didn’t hate you so damn much, Mickey.” Hate me? What for? I’d always tried to stay out of Marcone’s way; whether I worked for the Vargassi’s or not, I’d always been pretty sure that he’d eventually prove to be the one to come out on top. “I got no idea why you actually are here, though.”

                “Marco’s got a hit on Harry,” I said, and Hendricks was standing straight in a second, his eyes torn from the sky and fixed on my face.

                “That ain’t something smart guys joke with, you know that, right? If you’re razzing me, you’re not going to live to tell about it.” I shook my head, kept my hands out peaceably.

                “I’m not, I’m not. He just called me, asked me where Harry would be this time in a couple of days. I don’t… look, his roommate’s just some pretty boy type, I don’t think he can do much to look after him, and Harry’s strong, yeah, but Marco… Marco’s got guns and Marco’s got muscle. Marcone’s interested in him too, right? He wants him on his side? Just, please, tell him this, okay? Don’t let him get killed. He doesn’t deserve it.” Hendricks ran a hand harshly through his hair, eyes flashing back and forth fast.

                “And you told him the truth?”

                “I had to. I’m not getting myself killed just yet.”

                “Mickey, you just sang to me like a canary. Unless Boss can fix this, you’re dead anyway.” I flinched.

                “I know. Still. He’s my friend; don’t let him die.” Hendricks nodded once, hard, serious.

                “Where’s Dresden gonna be?”

                “His office, probably.”

                “Alright. I’ll talk to Boss, get some extra security set up around there,” he said, and then paused. “Look, kid, this is going to piss him off bad; Dresden is… he’s important to the Boss, okay? He’s been letting the Vargassi’s work in this city, to a point, but once he catches wind of this… they’re gone, you know that, right? And I don’t know how permanently. You’d be better off if you changed sides now. It ain’t like you’ll end up anymore dead than you will anyhow.” And wasn’t that the truth? If I died it wouldn’t matter what side I was on, but if I lived, it’d make all the difference in the world.

                “Consider me your underling,” I said, and the man bumped me hard with his shoulder.

                “Good. Go back to the boardinghouse. Try to get in touch with me if Dresden leaves alone.” I nodded once and did as he said driving back and hoping against hope that I’d done what was best, that I’d done what would keep Harry alive.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                I was absolutely floating, I decided, my mind muzzy with happiness. Harry and I, we’d taken a step; it wasn’t quite what I wanted, not yet, but it was getting there, it was movement rather than stagnation. He’d become willing to give me something more than scorn and that… I didn’t know the words to describe how joyful that made me.

                My work was going quite slowly, though; it was one of the rare days where there was little to do but go over reports from my various businesses, check the books and such to make sure that everything came out clear (my accountant can do wonders, I’ll admit, but accountants that good often enjoy a bit of extra pay on the side if their employer doesn’t keep a check on them), make sure all my employees were still happy, still getting their pay and their benefits and whatever else they happened to need, all that. It was dull and it was tedious, made even more so by the buzzing in my blood and my mind, but it was also necessary, and the only other person I trusted enough to do it, Hendricks, was out on his normal rounds.

                I thought as much, at least, until he opened my door hard and strode inside fast, his face thickly shadowed with worry. I tilted my head to one side, my body going tense at his expression, and he shut the door behind him. Serious, then, and private. I swallowed and he stepped up to the desk, his arms straight and tight beside him, shoulders tense and high.

                “Marco’s got a hit on Dresden. Mickey told me about it; I offered him a place in our family instead, so he wouldn’t get taken out himself.” Of course; I should’ve known better than to think that things would get any easier now just because Harry had given me that single concession. I should have known better than to think that life would become anything close to simple. I raked my hand through my hair, and was on my feet in an instant, pacing around the room like a fool.

                “Where and when?” I asked, and Hendricks gave me a small, sideways smile.

                “Couple of days, probably at his office. I made a couple of calls already, got some guys set up around the area. They’ll let us know if they see any of Vargassi’s guys around. I told Mickey to contact me if Dresden left his place alone.” I nodded; that was good. Hendricks was smart, I knew that, and he’d done nothing but what I would have.

                “Good; that’ll cover him in case they move sooner than we’re expecting. If I can help it, however, he’s not going anywhere near a hired gun. Where’d I put Tony’s number? I’m giving the bastard a call; see what he thinks of his son’s move. I’ll teach him that I will not stand for threats made to _my_ people.” Hendricks gave me the number and I settled at my desk again, picked up the phone and told the operator the number I wished for. Vargassi picked up quickly, his voice slow and easy on the other end, careless, always careless. That was my problem with him and his people, I supposed; they enacted their business without thought to anyone else. A life lost was nothing to them, just collateral so long as they got their pay and their glory. And now they were threatening Harry, my Harry, and I would not simply lie back and take that.

                “Hello?” he said, and I gritted my teeth together hard.

                “Mr. Vargassi, I believe you’d best start keeping a better handle on your son,” I said, and he made a vague, confused sort of noise.

                “Mr. Marcone, whatever do you mean? My son has not left our home at any point during the day.” I laughed.

                “You have a phone, Mr. Vargassi. I assure you that he can do quite enough damage with that. I have been recently informed that he ordered that something quite unfortunate happen to a member of my household, one that I believe you yourself are quite interested in. I simply wanted to tell you that I will not tolerate any harm coming to Harry Dresden, most certainly not by worthless creatures such as yourself and your spawn.” He was silent for a moment.

                “Marco has ordered Mr. Dresden dead?”

                “Yes.” Tony growled, an annoyed, pent up sound, and I knew that he wanted a cigarette desperately just then. He wouldn't take one, though; he'd stopped smoking years ago, before even I knew him, but he'd told me once, when he kept me in his circle (his downfall, at the end) that he still itched for one, that his fingers twitched for them. I'd learned how he acted, what he sounded like, when he wanted one over years of familiarity.

                “He’s a fool,” he told me, “I will take care of it. Don’t worry over his safety. I want him dead no more than you do.” I shook my head, my fingers drumming on my desk.

                “I’m afraid not, Mr. Vargassi. I can’t let this go unchallenged, you understand, and even if I could, who’s to say that your darling son couldn’t simply try this again and not allow either of us to discover it until he was already six feet under? No, Mr. Vargassi, I’m afraid I’m quite done being patient with you and yours. I’ll give you a day, Vargassi, to give up your holdings and leave my city. If you’re not gone by then, you can consider it as good as war.” Hendricks gaped at me, his blue eyes going wide, and I heard Vargassi take in a deep, quick breath.

                “Boss-,” Hendricks tried, but I held out a hand to silence him and shook my head.

                “You and yours have caused enough issues in my city for a lifetime anyway. Will you leave, Vargassi, or will you have all of this end less prettily for you?”

                “I will not give up what little you’ve thus far allowed me to keep, Mr. Marcone; I’ve gotten my own backers in the time since I was deposed, plenty enough to rival yours. If this is how you feel our connection must be severed, then so be it; I’ll have my city back quickly enough.” He hung up his phone, and I sighed as I did the same. My head ached all of a sudden. As it was, at least Harry would remain unharmed.

                “Boss,” Hendricks said, stepping a little closer to me, and settled a hand on my shoulder. I shook my head.

                “Don’t chastise me now, Nathan. I’m afraid I’m far from in the mood.” He laughed and moved his hand.

                “I wasn’t going to. This is… to be honest, I figured it would’ve happened years ago. I’m not upset. I guess Dresden just gave you the last push you needed, but I am worried. Vargassi and his kid act like a joke, yeah, but we both know they aren’t. We just started playing a dangerous game, Boss.” I smiled, my shoulders shifting in a slight shrug.

                “When do we ever play anything else?” Hendricks gave me his favorite flat look before he sighed and snorted quietly.

                “True enough, Boss. What’s our first move?” And so we began to plan, efficiently and unobtrusively, just as we had years before, when we were both just grunts ourselves. It certainly brought back memories, good and bad, even if it did nothing else.

* * *

 

Harry’s POV

                I was bored. I do stupid stuff when I’m bored. I hold that as the reason why I called Johnny the day after I talked to Bob about the flowers. It was sort of strange, though; he didn’t pick up nearly as fast as I figured he would, and when he finally did answer, he sounded flustered and distracted, maybe even a little annoyed.

                “Marcone,” he said, fast and sharp, and something compelled me to clear my throat. I hadn’t really ever heard him speak to me like that, at least not since we’d met in the 1914. It made me a little, I don’t know, I guess nervous is a good word for it.

                “Uh, hey,” I said, “It’s Harry.” As if he wouldn’t recognize my voice, as if everyone he knew started a phone call with “uh”. He spoke again, still sounding distant but far less annoyed.

                “Ah, Harry, lovely to hear from you. May I ask what you need?” Honestly I hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead; I’d just decided that I wanted to call him, so I had. I can be a pretty quick thinker, though, at least when I want to be.

                “Michael, Murphy, Thomas and I were thinking of going out to Mac’s for dinner tonight. I wanted to know if you wanted to come along with us.” He released a sharp breath, surprised and sudden, as if that were the last thing he’d expected me to say.

                “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be the best idea at the moment, Harry.” Oh. I bit at my bottom lip and shifted on the balls of my feet, but I don’t really know why. I mean, it wasn’t like I really had any sort of right to think he’d be available whenever I wanted him to be, given his profession. It wasn’t like Murphy, who I worked with, or Thomas, who I lived with, or even Michael, who made it a point to have me over at least once a week. Still, there was a sort of niggling worry arising in me because he wasn’t quite acting like himself; there was something raw in his voice, something old and animal, and it truthfully had me a little terrified. He simply does not lose his control, not like that, not so obviously. It goes against his nature. Stars, it goes against his iron fridge of a soul.

                “Oh, okay. I mean, come along if you can, alright? I promise my friends only bite when I tell them to, so they won’t, you know, kill you or anything.” He chuckled, stilted and still not quite himself.

                “No, no, I’m just rather… occupied at the moment, will be for some time. Ah, and please don’t call me on this number unless it’s an absolute emergency and you need me immediately. I promise you that I’ll call you myself when I’m able.” Now that got me really worried; what could possibly be going on that he apparently wanted me to cut all contact with him? It just didn’t make any sense. He’d seen me handle myself before, why didn’t he think that I could be involved in whatever was happening now? I’d just given him my friendship, so why was he suddenly hiding things from me? Why didn’t he want to let me in, to let me help? I didn’t like it, and my worry was making my stomach tight and achy, a nervous throb building up in the back of my head.

                “John, what-,” and then the bastard hung up on me, just like that. I moved the phone in front of my face, my gaze upon it incredulous. Since when did scumbag like _him_ get the right to hang up on _me_? Whatever. I settled the device back where it was supposed to be, but then changed my mind and picked it back up again, deciding rather quickly to call Murph and Michael because after I’d told Johnny what I had, a good dinner with them and Thomas sounded nice. I couldn’t be made to look like I’d just wanted to hang out with that ass, after all.

                Anyway, they actually agreed, so I went back to my room and settled on the couch with Thomas, telling him he could stay or go as he liked, and he, obviously, decided to come with us. Still, my thoughts were buzzing through my head, annoying and mostly irrational.

                He’s probably bored with you already, they told me. He was only interested in you for the challenge, but now that’s gone; you gave in. He doesn’t have to convince you of anything anymore, so it must be dull. He’s found another pretty girl, like the one from that restaurant; obviously he liked her, otherwise why had he been kissing her at the 1914 when you went drinking with Mickey? Little, silly things like that, things that shouldn’t have mattered but did, things I should have even been happy about. Still, my mind is a whole weird labyrinth of fucked up sometimes, so I didn’t think on it too hard.

                Besides, when Murphy and Michael arrived, they were as overjoyed as they ever are, and when we got to Mac’s, conversation flowed smooth and easy and all of us clinked teacups full of the finest ale in the city together (except for Michael; his teacup was full of actual tea), bright grins painting our faces. I was pretty sure I hadn’t had such a great evening in a while, so for a time, at least, thoughts of John and whatever was wrong with him fled my mind. They started up again as soon as I fell into bed that night, though, and refused to go away because my thoughts are terrible people.

* * *

 

                I got to suffer like that for three more days. I got to stay in the dark for three more days, and when I finally found out what had been going on, I didn’t even get a personal call or something, no, I found out in the fucking newspaper. _Chicago Kingpin Gentleman John Shot,_ the headline screamed at me, the newsboy waving papers around to sell, and I took one fast, before they got swarmed and sold out. I read over it fast, and yeah, there was my answer, there was the reason why he’d wanted me away; he was involved in a goddamn war with Vargassi. My stomach twisted because the paper had no word on how he was, or where he was, or anything like that. The mere idea that he might be… not alive anymore made me vaguely ill, and not so vaguely pissed.

                Why was it that everyone I knew had to get hurt? It didn’t make sense and it sure as hell wasn’t fair. Michael tells me all the time that I don’t get more than I can handle but it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes it feels like I’ve got way more; sometimes it feels like I have it all. I don’t carry it all well, either; I mess up and people get hurt for of it. I don’t know enough and people get hurt for it. I know too much and people get hurt for it. Anything I do, someone gets hurt. And now Johnny, Johnny I only just began to know, Johnny my friend, was lying in either a hospital or a morgue and _no one had even called me._ If he wasn’t dead, I was going to kill him myself, for that, for worrying me this way, for making me feel like this.

                I stomped off from where I had been standing in the middle of the street, staring at the paper as if I couldn’t read English anymore, and found myself going in an entirely different direction than I had been originally. I found myself going to Vargassi’s place. And yes, you can call me an idiot all you want. I’m pretty sure that anything you’d have to say at this point would be totally true.

                The really great part, I think, was that when I got there, I didn’t even have to break in to see Vargassi. No, instead his guards just opened the gates at the sight of me and led me upstairs to his office where he sat as he had that night he’d ordered me kidnapped, hands settled on his wide stomach and a frown etched into his features. He turned it into an amiable smile when he saw me, though, and gestured for me to take the chair in front of his desk. I did so stiffly, my own arms crossed hard over my chest, my eyes hopefully set like stones into my face.

                “Is he dead?” I asked, and he just _laughed,_ cold and empty sounding, his smile a gaping hole in his face.

                “I presume you mean Mr. Marcone? I’m afraid he is, or so near that the semantics remain unimportant. I would’ve thought you’d be happy at the news, Mr. Dresden; you can’t have an association with a man who no longer breathes. He’ll not be able to cause you issue anymore, certainly, and you’d be far more free to consider my contract without the risk of his retaliation.” My palms felt hot and my mind was a mess. I’d _liked_ the issues he’d caused me. Well, not precisely liked them, but… you know what I mean. It was interesting. He’d been interesting. I wondered one more time how many books and sources he’d gone through to pick out those flowers for me, thought again of how his lips had felt on my skin, my own lips. I didn’t want him to be dead. Everyone… everyone I cared about seemed to die. I was growing to wonder if I were nothing more than a blight myself. An angry blight. I could feel the magic swirling in my hands, and Vargassi was on his feet in a second, his back against the wall, and I could see his fear, I could tell how the hair on his arms, on the back of his neck stood on end.

                “What right do you have to order another man dead?” I hissed at him, stood and let myself stretch out to my full height, something I rarely did for fear of making others uncomfortable. “Most especially a man like John Marcone.” I was using my Wizard Voice, I noted, the rumbly one that came from somewhere deep in my chest and that made me lose my regular voice if I used it for too long. I stepped closer to Vargassi and he appeared to be groping around for something, probably a gun or a knife, but I wasn’t having that. I sent out two quick whips of force to his arms and pinned him there solidly. “Answer me.”

                “I-,” he tried, stuttering a little, voice high and losing all traces of its dignified accent. I gritted my teeth hard because I wanted to kill him, I did, but that would make me no better, that would only make me what everyone said I was. I was just angry, and I was mourning. I wouldn’t do something I’d regret later, not now; I refused. I had plenty of regrets already, John himself not the least among them (I’m not explaining exactly what those regrets were, by the way; if you’re curious, puzzle it out by yourself). The temporary satisfaction of revenge wasn’t worth adding another one. I dropped the force and stepped away, stepped out of the room. I’d have just left, too, had Vargassi not followed me. So really it’s his own fault that his house caught fire.

                I guess you probably want me to explain that. Most people do, when I mention something going up in flames. I have no idea why, though; you’d think they’d expect it from me at this point. Still, it really, really wasn’t my fault, I was leaving, I was. In fact, I was halfway out the door when Vargassi caught up to me, when I heard the endless stream of words that had apparently been tumbling out of his mouth ever since I left his office.

                “He brought it on himself, you know! If he hadn’t wanted to die he shouldn’t have interfered with me; he won for a while, yes, but you see how long it lasted? I always come out on top, Dresden, I and my family. Do you see that now? You’re upset, yes, I understand that, but the grief will leave you and when it does, you will find that you’d have been better off working for me all along. This is my final offer, however; take it now or suffer the consequences for it.” I whipped around hard, fast, and I had something like a snarl set on my lips, heat and light flashing behind my eyes. How dare he say that Johnny brought it on himself? That’s not how death works. I clenched my fists hard and felt my nails diggings crescents into my palm, but I didn’t stop; the distant throb was helping to keep me grounded. I shook my head, once, twice, again.

                “He was my friend,” I said, “Don’t you dare speak badly about my friends, especially not after you killed one of them. You’re a monster, Vargassi, a monster with a lamb’s smile. I’m never going to work for you, and I suggest you leave _my_ city soon. You don’t want me for an enemy.” I don’t normally speak coldly, without inflection, but I was pretty sure that Johnny had somehow rubbed off on me a little, in that regard. Looking back on it, that thought makes me smile a little, but it didn’t at the time. Instead, it just made me feel colder towards the man before me now.

                “You couldn’t touch me, Dresden. Too damn noble, aren’t you? Too weak, hiding behind a woman, hiding behind men even weaker than yourself. Ah, but you inspire that in people, don’t you? A desire to protect, to sacrifice. You’re the reason why good old Saint John is dead, really; my idiot son took a hit on you, and Johnny took offense. Wanted to keep you out of it, you see. And now he’s dead. I wonder, is that a theme with you, Mr. Dresden? Do all these protectors you attract often end up in the ground before their time?” My magic was a storm cloud around my body, guilt from what he’d said and from a million other things spiraling behind my eyes, because it was a theme, because people who knew me died a whole lot faster than your average person. A certain sickness tightened in my stomach and I didn’t even notice that the sparks were on my fingers until they fell onto the wood floor around me.

                The flames built faster than they should have, the floor apparently made out of some dry wood that probably shouldn’t have been used in such a new home. Some lasting gift from an unhappy carpenter, I’d imagine. I wish, sometimes, that I had any sort of capacity to focus on important things at important times. Obviously I don’t, though, because I was thinking about that while the house was being quickly emptied of its inhabitants. Someone, Marco, I realized once I managed to get turned around, knocked into me and nearly sent me falling into the fire. I avoided it, though, and ran outside myself. Eventually, the stream of people stopped and the fire department arrived. I stuck around just long enough to hear that no one had been trapped inside (thank God; they were criminals, yeah, but I sure as hell didn’t need any more bodies on my conscience) and then beat my hasty retreat, thankfully unnoticed, because even though I’m bad at veils, I can pull off one good enough to fool vanillas easily.     

                I made my way home from there, and even though Thomas asked me what was wrong when I got there, I didn’t really feel like talking. I was tired, and I was guilty for more than just burning another building. I wondered if Thomas knew how much he was risking his life, staying around me like he did. I drooped into my chair, muscles feeling weak and watery, and Thomas seemed to see that questioning me wouldn’t be the best idea just then, so instead he just went into the kitchen and made me chicken noodle soup.

                I ate it gratefully even though I’d had no idea that I even had chicken noodle soup, and the fact that I smiled made Thomas relax exponentially. There’s something about family, I think; they know when to press and when to just shut up and be comforting. I went to sit with him on the couch once I finished eating and he let me lean on him, his hand alternating between resting softly on my shoulder and stroking mindlessly through my hair, gently tugging out the tangles. It all felt like home, and eventually I ended up falling asleep.

* * *

 

                The next morning, both Thomas and Mrs. S woke me up, saying I had a phone call and that whoever was on the other end was adamant that I get my ass up and take the call. I, assuming it was Murphy, shambled my way up to the phone and picked it up.

                “Hello?” I said softly, still not feeling like myself, thoughts hung up on John, poor John, cold-skinned and green eyes closed off from the world forever more. I didn’t think I’d ever see eyes that color again.

                “Dresden,” I heard the man on the other end say, and though it took a minute, I recognized the voice as Hendricks’. He sounded… was that relief? Wow. Never thought he, of all people, would be relieved to hear from me.

                “Hendricks,” I said, “Finally calling to tell me what happened? That’s some great courtesy, you fucking bastard. He was my friend too,” I hissed out, and the line was silent for a few minutes.

                “What do you mean was, Dresden? He’s going to be upset, if he hears that.” What? No. That didn’t… what? “He heard about you getting rid of the Vargassi’s, by the way; he asked me to tell you thank you for winning Chicago for him before I told you that a car was coming by in a couple of hours to take you to the hospital for a visit so he can explain everything himself.” I stared at the phone blankly, my mind trying its hardest to process what Hendricks had said. I was almost positive that were anyone to walk behind me just then, they’d have seen smoke.

                “But… John’s dead, Hendricks. Vargassi told me-,” I said, and Hendricks snorted.

                “Vargassi’s a liar. Both of them are, to clarify. The Boss is fine. I mean, not fine; he’s in the hospital, obviously, but he’s going to live. They let him walk a little today. Not much, but a quick trip down the hall and back. Keep his muscles working and all. Still, how’d you make Vargassi and his dumbass kid leave so easy anyway?” Alive. John was alive. I realized I was smiling only when my cheeks started to ache from the width of it, at which point I just laughed, loose and easy and free because he was alive, I hadn’t killed him, and he was _alive._

                “I might’ve accidentally caught the house on fire, maybe. It totally wasn’t my fault, though! See, the wood was dry, and he was being an asshole, and sometimes my magic does stuff without me telling it to, so there were some sparks and-,” Hendricks cut me off there with a chortling sort of laugh. It sounded strange on him.

                “Goddamn. I gotta say, Dresden, you can really make a fucking _impression._ Vargassi was almost fucking blubbering when he called telling me he was out. Hell, I left and watched the prick leave myself, Marco glaring at me the whole damn time. I think I owe you a thanks myself, Dresden.” I scratched my head, looking maybe sort of sheepish even though no one could see me.

                “I think that’s the first time anyone’s ever thanked me for setting something on fire, most especially a really expensive property.” Hendricks laughed again and I could almost see him shaking his head.

                “I’ll see you in a while, Dresden. Keep an eye out for the car.”

                “Yeah. Bye-bye, Cujo,” I said, and hung up before he could comment. I went back down to my own room, almost floating, and the only thing that made me even a little sad was that Mickey wasn’t going to be around anymore, that another nameless person would come to this boardinghouse and take his old room and I wouldn’t know anyone again.

                “What’s got you so happy now?” Thomas asked when I entered the little living quarters again, “You looked miserable last night, and when you went to answer the phone. Did you get good news or something?” I grinned, wide and bright, and he seemed unable to help giving me a little smile back.

                “Yeah. See, apparently Johnny’s been fighting a war for Chicago, and he got shot. I thought he was dead, and I sort of kind of maybe ended up destroying Vargassi’s house. Hendricks just called and told me that Johnny’s still alive, though.” Thomas didn’t appear as if he were totally certain that that was good news. Eventually, though, he let his face smooth out and tilted his lips up in a small, sincere smile.

                “If it makes you happy,” he told me, and I slung my arms around his shoulders in a very manly version of a bear hug.

                “Thank you,” I mumbled against his shoulder where I had lain my head, and he punched my companionably on the arm.

                “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go all sappy on me now. I still don’t like him, but you’re my baby brother. I won’t kill him, just for you, at least not until he fucks up.” And that was probably as close to a promise or an acceptance of the fact that he was my friend now too as I was going to get. I just rolled my eyes nonetheless. And then I thought of the flowers John had given me and grinned; I couldn’t afford to actually buy him anything as a get well present, obviously, but flowers… I could do flowers. I had tons in my lab, for potions, and I was pretty sure I could go through them and pull out some with an appropriate meaning behind them. 

                “Hey, would you mind keeping an ear out for a car outside? Hendricks said he was going to send one to get me, and that it’d be here in a couple of hours. I’ve got to go down to the lab for a little bit.” He blinked at me once, slow, but did at least nod.

                “Yeah, alright. I’ll come grab you when the car gets here.” I patted his shoulder one more time, thoughtless, and then wandered down to my basement and woke Bob up. I should tell you that there was no shortage of laughter when I explained what I was doing, by the way. He also wanted to know when the wedding was. I brandished a hammer and he shut up pretty quickly, though, so at least he’s not a suicidal Spirit. And after he quit rolling around on his shelf he was at least helpful, and he convinced me to not just grab make a bouquet of narcissus, because while he is narcissistic as all hell (and how could he not be, really? He owns an entire city, after all) there were better, at least moderately kinder, options lying around. It was something of a shock discovering the sheer number of flowers I had in my lab, though; I could’ve started a business with them, especially since they were charmed all to hell so they wouldn’t die before I got a chance to use them.

                Anyway, I’d just managed to get an appropriate bundle of flowers together when Thomas yelled for me that my ride had arrived, and I tucked them carefully under my coat so whoever was driving couldn’t laugh at me until I arrived at the hospital. I do, after all, have at least a little pride left to maintain. It turned out to not really matter, though, since I didn’t even really recognize the guy driving and he didn’t seem particularly apt to get to know me no matter how many times I threw stupid questions at him. Which made the fact that Johnny had apparently been put in a hospital somewhere out of the city because we were driving for at least two hours before we got there pretty bothersome. If I’d have just bought some flowers from a shop, they probably would have wilted.

                Still, I thought about what I was going to say when I showed him the flowers, and I thought about John himself. I really did like him, I decided. He was… he was something special, that was for sure, something unique and strange and even if he wasn’t quite pure, he was still something like a good man. I thought about kissing him and thought about the strange urge I had to do it again. I thought about our relationship with one another, twists and turns and all. I decided to be honest about the flowers instead of lie, as I’d briefly considered doing. I decided to tell him that while I did want friendship, I was also sort of willing to go for something a little… more. Different. Basically that I was willing to try what he had apparently been after.

                We did eventually get there, though, and the guy led me upstairs to Johnny’s room even though the nurses at the entrance and at the station by his room gave me these really funny looks. Also, apparently if you’re in the mafia, you get to have guards posted outside your door. I say it really isn’t fair; I’m a PI and I don’t get that when I’m in the hospital. Hell’s Bells, I’m usually lucky if they even let me have visitors! Even still, I didn’t think on that for too long because hey, there was John, sitting up in his bed and breathing and speaking, and even though he had bandages around his chest, even though his shoulder was immobilized (I guess that’s where the wound was) he still had good color to him and he seemed pretty aware. He gave me a slight wave with the arm he could move when I came in, and I rolled my eyes.

                “Bastard scumbag,” I said, and I say that was the perfect greeting. The nurses and the guards and the guy who’d driven me all turned to stare at me, and at John, as if they were expecting something, but the only thing John did was chuckle warmly.

                “It’s nice to see you as well, Harry,” he told me, and I shifted on my feet a little nervously. I never had liked hospitals very much; the smell of them unnerved me, and generally I was only in one when I was gravely injured myself, or when my friends were, so I didn’t exactly get the best impression of them most days. I slid the flowers from my coat so I would have something to do, and John’s eyes lit up as he took them. “What’s the occasion?” he asked me, and I just shook my head.

                “I’m just returning the favor,” I said, “I even brought you some with meaning too.” He smirked, and Hendricks got this weird look on his face.

                “Hey, come on, assholes. Let’s give them some time to talk,” he said, ushering the men out of the room until it was empty but for me and John, and then he closed the door behind him. I took the chair beside his bed that one of the guys had vacated.

                “Yeah,” I said, and then gestured at the ivy with little white tendrils on it that I’d used to bind the bouquet together. “This stuff means affection, and anxious to please,” I told him, and I could feel my face heating up a little. That had sounded a lot less stupid when I was in my lab putting it together. He fingered the little white flowers tangled in amongst the green, and then smiled again, sharp and almost animal.

                “Is that so? How sweet,” he said, and then gestured at the rest. “Tell me the others.” I don’t know how any man could continue being so damn bossy when he was laid up in a hospital bed with a bullet in him.

                “Dick,” I said, before I touched one of the vibrant orange lilies I’d used. That one would hopefully bring him down a peg or two. “This one means hatred, and I do hate you, you know. I hate you for not telling me what was going on, and for worrying me like you did. I hate you because I thought you were dead. And I hate you because I just can’t bring myself to hate you even though I should.” He didn’t look as cowed as I’d hoped. I touched the next one, a smaller, purple flower called bittersweet whose petals opened widely and ended in points, one with a brilliant yellow stamen in its center. “This one represents truth, because you didn’t tell it. And also because eventually you sort of started to. At least until recently. Recently you’ve just changed from outright lies to lies by omission. Jackass.” He finally couldn’t hold back his laugh any longer.

                “Harry, I believe flowers are meant to be gifts that show how much you like a person, not all the faults you have with them.”

                “They came out of my lab, so I’ll damn well use whichever ones I want to.” He used his free hand to squeeze at the bridge of his nose.

                “Did you have any besides the ivy that were even vaguely complimentary?” I grinned, quick and bright.

                “Hold your horses, Johnny.” I pointed at another of the flowers, another purple one called a cattleya orchid, but it had those pretty wavy edges I liked and a bright shock of yellow on the bottom petal. “You want complimentary, here; this one means mature charm.” He looked pleased again and I decided that I should’ve only used the insulting flowers I had. Really, it was totally unnecessary to make his ego bigger than it already was. His head would explode pretty soon, if it kept expanding.

                “It’s always strange, you know, when you compliment me. I forget you know how to do it sometimes, and then you nearly give me a heart attack when you do it.” I glared down at my feet because this was all obviously their fault; they’d given me the stupid idea of bringing John flowers. I didn’t bother commenting on what he said, though, because I kind of just wanted to get through the rest of them so I could shut up and stop embarrassing myself. I fingered the next one, a fragile white magnolia, its petals delicately curling up into a bowl shape.

                “This one is nobility, since you always struck me as someone with noble blood in your background somewhere way back. Plus you went and made yourself Baron for some reason, so it seemed appropriate.” He didn’t interrupt me this time as I touched the next flower, a simplistic herby bit of horehound with tiny, sort of fuzzy purple-y white-y flowers. “This one is health, for obvious reasons, Mr.-I-think-I-feel-like-starting-a-mob-war-today.” He did break for a chuckle that time.

                “For perfectly good reason, I assure you.”

                “Yeah, yeah,” I said, and prodded the next flower, cumin, a white one with this really cool, geometric shape and tendrils spilling from its center. “This one is fidelity,” I said, going a little pink again, and something sort of shadowy fell over his eyes.

                “Oh, really?” he asked me, fingers of his good hand kind of reaching out for me, and I shifted away from them a little.

                “Keep them to yourself and let me finish,” I grumbled, and while he pursed his lips just a little, he did as I asked and settled his arm beside him patiently once more. I touched the next one, probably my favorite in the bunch, one called white heather whose flowers hung like little fairy bells. “This one means protection, and a wish for one’s wishes to come true. That makes sense, too; the flowers like this, the ones that hang down like this, get used as bells by the pixies, and a lot of mythologies have them as wish-granters, so you could, you know, ring the little fairy bell and get one to come to you.” That made him smile again, his eyes shifting between my face to his new flowers. I always did find it weird, how he liked listening to me talk about stuff like that. That wasn’t the time to consider that, though; instead, I touched the last flower, a white violet that only had a tiny splash of its traditional namesake color. “This one is the most important one in the bunch, I think. It means let’s take a chance on happiness.” I couldn’t stop his hand from curling into the front of my shirt and yanking me down to his level that time, and I wasn’t totally sure I wanted to. Surprisingly enough, though, he didn’t kiss me.    

                I realized that I wanted him to, though, that I wanted him to just pull me the rest of the way down and _do_ it. He didn’t, though. No, instead he just held me very slightly above him and looked at me with intense eyes, expecting something, and, oh. He wanted me to do it. I could work with that, I guessed. I bent down the rest of the way, my back curving at an awkward angle because of the low bed, but he helped a little, sitting up a little more and tilting his head back, keeping his moveable hand curled in my shirt for support. Apparently me initiating the kiss was something of a trigger for him, though, because he bit and sucked at my lip as he hadn’t before, his mouth moving expertly, and to tell the truth I was just trying to keep up, just trying to keep my head above water. I was drowning, though, sinking fast, but it was the good kind of drowning, if that makes any sense. Eventually, though, I did have to pull away and come up for air.

                “Christ, Harry,” he mumbled at me, eyes blown wide, and I laughed, maybe a little breathless.

                “Yeah,” I said, “and now that the fun’s over, how about you tell me what the hell you were thinking, leaving me in the dark like that? I was _terrified!_ I thought you were dead, damn it! Vargassi said you were dead! Do you know how… have you never had a relationship before? See, normal people tell the people they like about stuff like a goddamn mob war! Or, you know, drop a line when they get shot!” It was his turn to drown, apparently, because he looked sort of horrified.

                “Harry, I did it only for your protection. Marco had taken out a hit on you, and if not for Mickey telling us, you could have very well ended up dead. I could not let something like that go unpunished. As for why I didn’t call, it would’ve drawn attention to you. You’re strong, Harry, yes, but if they got to you without you noticing… you’re as susceptible to being shot as anyone else. I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt again. Thank you, by the way, for expelling Vargassi from the city. How is it that you managed that, by the way?”

                “Hendricks asked me already. Ask him about it. Still, John, I’ve spent years looking after myself and years sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. When I care about someone, I like being involved. I like helping and I like protecting them, so I don’t feel useless. If you’d had me with you, I could’ve brought up a shield and you wouldn’t have a hole in you where there shouldn’t be one, but no, you had to keep me out of it out of some misguided need to protect me! John, you’re going to have to promise me that you won’t do this again. I don’t want to be involved in your ‘business’, okay? But if you’re in trouble, I want to know about it and I want to help.” He cocked his head and smiled just a little.

                “Alright, Harry. I’ll make that promise to you if you’re willing to make the same to me.”

                “Of course,” I said, and he pulled me down for another kiss, this one faster and far more chaste. And that was when Johnny’s boys walked back inside, all of them clapping and cheering like morons. I’m pretty sure I turned red enough that spontaneous combustion was a real possibility. John just looked stupidly pleased with himself.

                “You go, Boss. You bagged the bastard brave enough to set fire to Vargassi’s house, and tough enough to tell about it afterwards. Nice choice. Dumb shit,” Hendricks said, and John gaped as much as he ever gapes, turning his eyes to me as if asking me to explain the incident with the fire. I just shook my head, felt my eyes sparkling, stood, and made my graceful exit.

                It was only after I got outside and got myself a taxi that I realized that John had mentioned Mickey telling him about the hit, meaning Mickey probably hadn’t left town with the rest of the Vargassi family, and I laughed again, happy and probably looking more than a little crazed. I guess I’m just lucky that the cabbie didn’t throw me out on my ass.


	13. Chapter 13

                Not at all suspicious vehicles continued to escort me to and from the hospital for the rest of that week, and yeah, eventually I did have to tell the story of my ‘fiery blaze of victory’, as Johnny’s guys were calling it, to everyone. Most of them thought that it was an absolutely _adorable_ story of true love’s might and triumph and whatever else, although I don’t know how me getting annoyed and accidentally producing sparks counted as anything close to that. Eventually John started to like hearing them tell the story to one another more than he liked hearing me tell it because of that, though, because they added in all these weird little details like how I was such a devoted little boyfriend that I would do anything to defend John’s honor against his foes. Surprisingly enough, Hendricks was one of the worst ones for doing shit like that. And Murphy said _I_ exaggerated too much. By the end of the week, though, I’d basically given up any sort of protest and let them mess with the story however they liked.

                Still, I found myself having fun, and even Mickey came by a time or three for some chats. For some reason, he seemed surprised that I was with John instead of Thomas; I don’t have any idea why. That particular assumption did sort of annoy John, though, so Mickey stayed away for a day or two before he came back. Either way, I found myself enjoying that time a weird amount, but I was still happy when John finally got the all-clear to go home.

                I’m pretty sure he was happy about it, too, because on the way to his place he turned to me and decreed that he was going to have a tiny party, his people and mine, to celebrate the fact that he was alive and still Chicago’s boss, Chicago’s king. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t even argue with that even though I should have. I wanted my friends and Johnny to interact. I wanted them to know each other, and I wanted them to be friends too. Especially Murphy. Murphy has been known to cause… issues whenever she didn’t think that the person I was with or interested in was any good for me. So, when we got to John’s place and he led me into this elaborate, opulent sitting room, one with wide, open windows whose wispy white curtains fluttered gently and a carpeted floor that was soft and thick enough that my boots left imprints in it, I picked up his phone and gave them all a call.

                I was actually pretty shocked when they all agreed to come by, though, and John smirked at me when I told him that they were on their way. After that, he pulled me onto a plush, clean loveseat beside him, his arm loose and easy over my shoulders, and then had Hendricks bring us both a glass of something the color of amber that burned its way down my throat. I coughed when I swallowed and he let out a soft, warm sort of laugh, welcoming and human.

                “It’s something of an acquired taste, I’m afraid. I can have something else brought to you, if you’d like.” When I replied, my voice was rough with the stuff.

                “The taste is fine, but it feels like I could breathe fire if someone lit a match near my mouth. How the hell do you drink that without even wincing a little?” He kept his smile on his lips, curling them just so, and squeezed my shoulder delicately.

                “I’ve drank things like that for years, Harry; it’s high quality and it looks better.” I put on the blankest expression I could and stared at him hard.

                “John. You do not drink something because it’s high quality; you drink it because you enjoy it. I drink Mac’s ale. I love Mac’s ale. He makes it in-house, serves it warm, and gives me a discount. Real old-world stuff. If you want high quality, buy yourself some of that.” He shook his head, his smile turning a little bemused.

                “So strange, Harry. You’re nothing like the other men in this world; you belong in another time, to be sure, you and all of your friends. You know, you’re the first person I’ve yet met that wasn’t the least bit impressed with my wealth or my power. You’re… you’re difficult, you’re a challenge. You’re so damn unique that I simply can’t stop puzzling at you, and the best part is that you don’t even seem to realize how special you are yourself.” I blinked, slow and more than a little bemused myself.

                “Well, I guess you’re pretty impressive for a vanilla, but not for some of the shit I deal with. I mean, my godmother could probably buy out every venture you have three times over, and I know some dragons that could probably bury the city in their gold. As for why I’m not impressed with power, I’ve seen how worthless and how corrupting it can be. I’ve never really liked power.” He gave me a nod that conveyed understanding even though I wasn’t sure he totally did.

                “Still yet, I admire it nearly as much as it annoys me. You’re a good mixture of that, I think, admiration and annoyance, with these strange little kind streaks like those lovely flowers.” I raised my eyebrows and tried another sip of the alcohol. It still burned, but I got it down this time with only a wince as I grew more used to the sting of it.

                “I used them to tell you I hated you.”

                “Along with how you felt I had mature charm and were anxious to please me.”

                “Fuck off.” I really am the quickest thinker in the west, aren’t I? Anyway, he pulled me nearer to him again after that, and I let him, careful not to jar his shoulder and hurt him, careful to keep my hands in all the safety zones. He didn’t seem to have the same compulsion in that regard, though, because his fingers trailed from my shoulder to my lower back, sometimes dipping just a little lower before they trailed back up. I still wondered why he even wanted me like _that._ I mean, I’d seen the kind of women who were interested in him. Looks wise, I couldn’t hold a candle to them. I wasn’t going to complain, though. Maybe he just had bad taste, and I guessed I couldn’t exactly complain about that. We talked for a while after that, me growing ever more used to the strong drink in my glass, and then some of John’s people, Hendricks foremost among them, came in too and we all talked in circles for a while until my friends came in with a very literal bang.

                Obviously, Murphy was leading the charge, her face set like stone and her mouth pulled into a hard line, her hands solid on her hips. Michael stood slightly behind her and to the left, not nearly so angry as her but obviously wary because he didn’t have his usual smile pulling at his lips. Thomas stood beside him, and his eyes were flecked with too-bright silver that seemed to almost move, although I could tell how he was biting that back as best he could.

                “Alright, Marcone, I don’t know what you did, but you’re giving Harry back _right now_ or I can’t promise how much longer this house is going to be standing.” Yeah, that sounded like Murphy. At least I knew she wasn’t possessed, I guess. I think that’s the first time that I ever saw legitimate, pure shock on John’s face. Like, ever; I mean, he looked like he was going to combust with the bemusement. I hid a smirk behind my hand.

                “Ms. Murphy, I do believe that he is the one who called you to come here, not me. Can I ask what has led you to the assumption that I’ve done anything?” She looked at him like he was stupid.

                “I’ve heard about your little employee, the woman. She can do magic; who the hell knows what she could’ve done to his head? I know you’re interested in him, maybe he told you no one too many times and you got sick of it. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s messed around with his brain. And besides, he’s sitting there and not commenting. I’ve never known him to do that.” I moved my hand so that she could see my smirk.

                “I’m just trying not to laugh, Murph. I’m fine, yeah? I promise. I’ve gotten… I know him a little better now. I realized… this before then, though, when I thought he was dead. I just… I know it’s stupid, Murphy, I do, but I think… I think I love him too. I want to try, and I want you guys to know him too. I don’t want you all to hate each other.” She turned the look she’d been directing at John to me, and I cowered just a little. She didn’t get a chance to go on her rampage, though, because Thomas had come up to us like a storm cloud, godlike and angry.

                “You _lunatic_!” he yelled at me, his hands raised up and his fingers spread in exasperation, and John watched him with this strange, detached sort of amusement.

                “What?” I asked, and he reached out and shook me hard. I felt my hair flying, sheepdog like, around my head as he did.

                “You! I know I told you that he liked you and all, and I let you visit him at the hospital, but how the hell could that jump straight to you becoming his boyfriend you insufferable dumbass?” He was talking so fast that it actually took me a second to decipher what he said. I sighed and gestured for him to calm down. He raged a few seconds longer before he did, before he let go of his hard grasp on my shoulders and stepped back a little.

                “Just… uh… let him explain, yeah? He’s better at explaining stuff than me. You can all question him all you want, okay? Just know that I am here totally of my free will, and I do really care about him. I invited you here because I want you all to be able to like him too, even though it’ll be hard.” Michael smiled, but then I expected that; Michael is a friendly sort of guy, more willing to trust than most even though he’s seen some of the worst things humanity has to offer. He, however, was also the one that gently pushed Thomas behind him and stared firmly down at John.

                “I have been with Harry ever since he has been in this city; I have seen and heard of his worst betrayals and I and my family have helped to comfort him during them. I have seen him in his suffering and I have seen him in his joy. I like to think that I know more of him than most, although that is perhaps foolish of me given how prone he is to hiding things. I do not know you nearly so well, Mr. Marcone, and perhaps that frightens me. I know all of those that Harry is close to, even if I don’t know them as well as I know he himself. You, though, Mr. Marcone, are an enigma. I do not understand you, and I am terrified that you will hurt him. He has seen enough sorrow in his life; for the remainder of it, he deserves happiness.” John’s face was serious instead of playful, strong instead of easy. He was trying to be reassuring, although whether to me or to Michael I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was both.

                “I feel the same, Mr. Carpenter. Harry is… he is someone to be loved, to be venerated and cared for. He is someone to protect, and I wish to be one of the people to do so. One day, perhaps I will hurt him, although I can swear to you that it will not be intentional and I can swear that I will hold that moment off for as long as possible. I love him, Mr. Carpenter; I love him and he is so, so very important to me. I will get to know you as much as you like, for as long as it takes for you to grow to know me as well as you desire, so long as it will convince you to let Harry be with me without reservations.” I noticed that I’d taken his hand, and that I was squeezing it maybe a little too hard. Michael’s lips turned up into another smile, laughter warm in his eyes, and it was… I was… I was pretty sure that Michael had been won over.

                “I rest, Mr. Marcone. I wonder, do you have any tea? If you do, I’d very much like a cup.” He sent some guy, a particularly funny one that I’d started to like quite a lot during our conversation earlier, into the kitchen to make a pot of the stuff. And that was when Thomas shouldered his way back to the front, his arms crossed.

                “I’m not so nice as Michael, Marcone; I don’t like you. I’m probably never going to like you. You piss me right the hell off and sometimes not even when you’re trying to. More often than not, I want you to be literally anywhere but beside Harry, and I’ve already explained the reason why. Which, yeah, Harry, he does know about us. Anyway. Look, Marcone, I can’t tell Harry what to do. Maybe I might want to, but I can’t. He likes you. God knows why, but he does. He does, and he’s happy, and I can’t… Marcone, I can’t take that away from him. I’ve seen your feelings, Marcone, more clearly than I’ve seen damn near anything. You’ve got something in you, something dark that wants more of him than he could ever give. I trust Harry’s judgment, though. I trust that he knows what he’s doing, and because of that, I’m trusting you to keep that dark thing in you in check. If you don’t, though, I will hurt you. I’ve hurt people before for doing something to my family. I will hurt you for every hurt that you lay upon him, and I will make you smile for every moment of it. Empty Night, Marcone, that’s my baby brother you’ve got on your arm; what kind of big brother would I be if I just let you do whatever you wanted with him without some consequences looming over your head?” I didn’t know whether I should laugh at that or be worried. John just kept that clean, serious look settled on his features.

                “I would not have it any other way, Mr. Raith. I realize that this ‘thing’ you mentioned exists, and though perhaps I may want to, I cannot make it go away. I am selfish; I have found someone that I want and there is something in me that demands that I keep him to myself. I also love him, though, as I’ve said, and that means that first and foremost, I want his happiness, and I know that for him to be happy, he needs the three of you, and he needs others. He needs to belong to himself. I won’t take that, and if I try to, I welcome you to stop me. I want you to. You three can be my safeguards, yes? It’ll alleviate my own worries as much as your own.” It was… weird, to think that he really thought of me that way. I didn’t think anyone ever had before. I’m not used to it, like, at all. Thomas didn’t look happy at his words, per se, but he did look accepting. He looked like he’d make the attempt to deal for me, and that made me happy. Murphy decided to take her turn after that, and she got right in John’s face, seeming large enough to fill the room.

                “Harry’s my best friend. I never thought I’d get to say that anyone was my best friend. I was always closest with my dad; my mom and my sister never really understood me. I didn’t want to wear dresses; I wanted to play cops and robbers with the boys who lived next door. I’m not like most people. Hell, I’m a woman, and my dream as a little girl was to be a cop like my dad. I found out damn fast that that wasn’t a possibility, though. I applied, I did, and I kicked ass. You know who I lost the job to? Some skinny little fuck named Rudolph who couldn’t even do the obstacle course. My dad’s old friend on the force, Rawlins, was pissed, and he tried to get me a position, but it just got stonewalled. A little while after that, I ended up getting a divorce from my asshole husband, and he went and married my sister.  

                I lost faith for a while, and then I met Dresden here, a million foot tall twenty-something with an attitude problem, attacking a goddamn troll. It was… my god, it was hilarious. It was improbable and it was terrifying and it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen all in one. And you know what? He did all that to save this kid whose parents were going to charge him and his PI trainer with kidnapping. He was covered in soot and he was bleeding, but he still smiled at me for helping him. We’ve been friends since then, and I supported him when he started his business. I never expected him to ask me to be his partner, but when he did, he gave me the one thing I’d always wanted but never thought I’d get to have. He gave me the chance to be a cop, to help people when they were in trouble.

                He made me happier than I’d ever been before, and he still does, honestly. Like I said, he’s my best friend. I know he hasn’t ever gotten to be nearly as happy as he’s made me, though. He’s got baggage and he’s been hurt a lot before. The one thing I want more than anything now is to see him happy and see him safe. If you can do that, Marcone, I want you to. Maybe you’re not the kind of person I thought he’d end up with, but then again, maybe you’ll be good for him. Maybe you’ll be the one to keep that smile on his face and keep it real. If you don’t, though… Thomas has already threatened you, but don’t think he’s the only one capable of ruining you. My boyfriend is a mercenary who gives me big guns for Christmas, and I promise you’d make great target practice.”  I literally did have to laugh at that, it was just so… I’d had no idea that they cared about me so much.

                It was confusing; I’d always seen myself as something like a burden, as a problem. I’d always figured they’d all be happier without me around. And yet here they were, threatening the man who was quite possibly one of the most dangerous in the city. All for me. It was just plain _odd._

                I realized then that what had happened to me before, in my past, with DuMorne, with the White Council, with Nicodemus, with everyone, didn’t matter anymore. It was unimportant. It was nothing. I had people who loved me, now. I had people who cared about me. They were important to me, they were everything. I held out my arms and apparently they knew exactly what I wanted because I got a lot of hugs for that. I got smiles. I got laughter. I don’t know for how long we all talked, after that, how long we laughed, how long we let each other in (surprisingly enough, John and Murphy bonded over weaponry; I wondered how long the universe could possibly exist with two people that badass before it exploded) but it was dusk outside when they left and I was pleasantly buzzed, so I figured I may as well just spend the night there. My friends and my brother (I really could hardly believe that Thomas had told him that at some unspecified point in the past. I’d have to ask some time) left with a parting glance that was barely wary at all, and I promised that I’d give them all a call in the morning so that they could leave happily. It was after John and I ate dinner with his guys, though, that we got the really strange guest.

                She didn’t even have the courtesy to knock on the front door, instead just appearing in the living room directly in front of us with a burst of icy Winter air. She had scarlet hair, shiny and bright like cherries, and I’d never seen the color on anyone else before. She was tall, too, only a few inches shorter than me in her bare feet, and her body was slender and inhumanly graceful. She had slanted eyes the color of molten gold, and her pupils were slits, like a cat’s. I recognized her dress, rich velvet done in royal purple, as on the first day we’d truly met years and years before. I recognized her face even better, though, and even now it gives me a certain shiver of fear, fear at her sheer power, at her age and her experience and her sometimes tenuous mercy.

                “Godmother,” I said, my voice catching just a little in my throat. John looked like he was reaching for something, but he stopped at the word, and she stepped over to me easily, as if her feet didn’t even touch the ground, and her hand caressed my cheek and my jaw. I shuddered at the feel of ice at her fingertips.

                “I missed you at my queen’s party, child. You fled before I could greet you.” I blinked slowly, maybe a little lazily.

                “Wasn’t exactly my decision,” I mumbled, and she smiled. Her hand fell from my face and she canted her body just slight to the other side so she could face John.

                “I should say not. It was this presumptuous little mortal, wasn’t it? Indeed, the world’s newest baron and the first of such fleeting time. You’re a funny little creature, aren’t you? In love with my darling godson! I must say I’m a bit disappointed. I’d always wished for him to have children for me. Although I suppose I could still work something out, but-,” I stopped her right there.

                “Nope. You’re not messing with my physiology. Again. Just, stop that train of thought right there, Lea.” She laughed, the noise like bells, sweet and perfect.

                “Oh, la. You’re no fun, child. Now, Mr. Marcone, beloved of my beloved, may I ask what your intentions are?” He looked a little… helpless.

                “Godmother?” he finally managed, and of course that was what rendered him speechless.

                “Yeah, yeah; I have a fairy godmother. Go ahead and get all the giggles out.” He just shook his head, still seeming as if he’d long ago been buried by the waves crashing over his head. As if he hadn’t learned stranger things about me.

                “You’ll never cease to surprise me, will you Harry? Now, Miss… Lea, was it? May I ask what you meant by intentions?” Lea looked a bit put out.

                “You may call me Leansidhe, mortal, and I should think it would be obvious. What do you intend to do with him now that you’ve succeeded in getting him? Do you desire a marriage or a temporary affair? Both can be arranged, to be sure, but if it is the latter, I’m afraid that I must make a personal request that you cease in your courting.” Courting. My god, but Lea was behind the times. And people say I don’t belong.

                “Leansidhe, then. My ‘intention’ is to simply have him by my side for as long as he’ll let me. I love him, as you said.” Lea pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, playing at drama, but her mischievous smile, the one that set her lips like a knife wound, was obvious on her face.

                “Ah, and so are my greatest fears confirmed! My darling little godson, all grown up. Whatever shall I do without him to care for? It seems my premonition about this dress was true, don’t you think, child? In this I received you, and in this must I give you away.” I raised my eyebrows and crossed my legs at the knee, relaxing just a little where I sat.

                “Really? Just like that? I’ve never known you to do anything that easily, Lea.” She laughed again, sweeping her hair back from her forehead.

                “Oh, sweet, you know me far too well! You are my godson, child, and therefore under my dominion. To give you away to a lover, of course I require… compensation from said lover, in this case Mr. Marcone.” Stars and Stones, no. Lea was dangerous as all hell. She cared about me, in her own way, but other people… she didn’t care about other people. She’d do whatever she damn well pleased with them, really. I wouldn’t have John in her debt.

                “No, Lea. You’re not going to bind him.” She cocked her head.

                “I was not going to; I do not want him. He is nothing special to me, child. He’s special to the mortals, I’ll grant, and to you, but to me he is not even a blink. There is no point in me becoming interested in something so fleeting. Still yet, Mr. Marcone, do you want to know my price?” He got that stern set to his jaw again, the steely glint in his eyes.

                “Of course.” And he’s a fucking moron. I knew better than to try and get him to shut up, though.

                “Wonderful! My price is very simple, you see; all I desire in exchange is that you keep him happy. If you do that, then I will not interfere. If you do not, however, this little deal of ours will be null, and he will be beneath my hand once more. In addition, your life will become forfeit to me.” John laughed with the ridiculousness of it all and I felt like it too.

                “Leansidhe, I’m afraid that by that point there’d be little left of me for you to take; his friends have already extracted similar bargains from me. I suppose I see no harm in taking yours as well.” There was plenty of harm, of course, but I didn’t think Lea would be the one to cause it. She was… I wouldn’t call her trustworthy, but she was as close to it as any fairy could ever be, beyond the dewdrops. She did something that was an even mixture between a curtsy and a bow, and after a final kiss to my cheek (her lips were colder than her fingers had been) she was gone with nothing but a swish of her gown and another burst of icy air. John didn’t bother to hide his laughter anymore, instead just doubling over with it until it looked like it was hurting his shoulder and his arm.

                “John?” I asked, and he just shook his head.

                “I’m happy you have so many people who love you,” he told me, and I nodded, a fond smile touching my lips.

                “Yeah. Yeah, I’m… I’m happy too.” And then I kissed him once, sound and soft, and he stroked his hand through the mop of my hair before he stood.

                “Come to bed?” he asked, and that… well, it was… ah, what the hell. If I’m going to do something stupid, I may as well invest in it wholeheartedly.


	14. Chapter 14

                “Of course,” I replied, and followed him to a bedroom that was just as opulent as the sitting room. It was done in demure colors, whites and off-whites with these small shocks of red in seemingly random places. He’d had the flowers I’d brought him sent here, apparently, because I saw them sitting on the mantle beside his bed. They looked out of place and perfectly natural and maybe that was how our relationship could best be described. He carefully undid his shirt one handed, looking in the mirror at himself to see how to do it, and then shrugged it off of himself. His bandages were stark white underneath and I wondered how he’d managed it. Mine always seemed to get all torn up and yellowish somehow. I watched for a second as he tried to get them off himself, but I took pity on him pretty quickly.

                “Let me help. You’re changing them, right? I change mine all the time, I can do it.” He looked startled by the offer for a moment, but finally he relaxed and nodded. I untied them carefully and unwound them with equal care. At least until I’d gotten his ribs totally uncovered. See, at that point, I started laughing raucously, my sides aching with it, and he looked… Hells Bells, he looked self-conscious. That just made me laugh harder, even if that was maybe a little cruel, but he _never_ looked like that!

                “Harry?” he finally asked, and I managed to get my laughing under control long enough to answer.

                “You have… is that a tiger?” I managed, pointing at the source of my giggling with the hand not holding his bandages, where, yes, he had a tattoo of a tiger jumping across his ribs, ferocious and beautifully done with long, graceful lines. I traced over it softly with my fingertips, and he nodded slowly.

                “Yes? Do you not like it?” he asked me, and I had to laugh again. I was pretty sure that no one had ever asked me if I liked their tattoo before, not even Kincaid, and he enjoyed showing his off.

                “You know what I thought of when I saw your soul, John? A tiger. That’s why I’m laughing, not because I think it’s ridiculous or anything. It’s pretty, really.” I went back to work on the bandages and he flashed me his fighter’s smile, the bold one that lit up his face and made him look younger than he had any right too.

                “A tiger, eh? Can I ask why?” I shrugged, and somehow he’d turned this to _me_ being embarrassed.

                “It was… clean. Like steel. Controlled. Powerful, but… not cruel. A tiger kills, but not out of cruelty; that’s what you do too. You were hiding things, though, in a dark corner. I poked at it but you kicked me out.” He nodded, something warm in his eyes as I fetched the new bandages from his attached bathroom and rewrapped him. I was almost sad to see the tiger get covered again.

                “I’ll tell you one day,” he promised, and I nodded with a smile I hoped would tell him that he didn’t have to rush. “I saw fireworks, in your soul,” he said suddenly as he walked us to his bed and sat, and I blinked as I plopped down beside him.

                “Fireworks?” He nodded.

                “Indeed; of all colors, but primarily red and blue. There were some that shouldn’t have existed, though, black and gray ones. When I looked at those, I realized that they were showing scenes as they burst. I stepped closer; the heat burned. In the red I saw those things you want to protect; I saw the faces of your friends, I saw your home, I saw your pets, I saw Chicago. In the blue were those things that made you happy, good books and good food and good conversation, a warm place to call your own and people who’d do anything to see you keep that place. In the gray, though, I saw the things about yourself that you don’t like, your insecurities and your fears of becoming that which you despise. The black displayed all of your suffering, faces and places and names that flashed too quickly for me to see. I saw that you have no idea how wonderful you are, how good you look. You miss all the good and all you see is that gray. Perhaps that makes you even lovelier.” He touched my leg, and I swallowed thickly, wiggling a little. He squeezed once, reassuring.

                “I’ve never had anyone describe it that way before,” I mumbled, “People usually get… my old girlfriend fainted.”

                “No taste,” he smirked, pulling me just slightly sideways so my upper body was sprawled on his chest. I grinned and buried my slightly too warm face into his neck, let myself lay a lick there playfully, and that was when he rolled over on me.

                He’s made totally of muscle, in case you didn’t know, solid and heavy on top of me. I coughed and stayed very pointedly still as he perched on top of my hips, his weight pressing down hard but not hard enough to hurt, not hard enough that I couldn’t get up if I wanted, and his good hand teased at the hem of my shirt.

                “Well, aren’t you handsy.” He got this funny expression on his face, stuck somewhere between amusement and arousal, and my toes curled in the shoes I had never bothered to take off.

                “I suppose so, when I’ve got something worth touching. Can I?” he asked me, and it was like I’d been thrown in a time machine and dropped off months later than I should’ve been, like time didn’t matter, like we’d been together forever. I was lost; I didn’t exactly have a lot, or any, experience with this. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do or what I was supposed to want and I sure as hell didn’t know what was really going on here. John seemed a lot more comfortable with things, so I just relaxed and offered him the very best smile I could muster just then.

                “What, um, what do you want? Like, what do you want me to do? I don’t really know about this kind of thing. I’ve only been with women, and only two of those, and-,” he cut me off there with a hard, desperate sort of kiss, his hand rucking up my shirt and tickling at my skin. An odd, strangled groan made its way passed my lips as he pulled away, and I knew that my eyes were wide and maybe full of something overwhelmed because that’s how I felt. The speed of everything was making my heart go fast, fast, fast in my chest, and I almost wanted to apologize for how unhelpful I was being but then John let out this weird growly noise and started tugging at my shirt, doing his damndest to get it off with naught but the one hand. I settled my hand on top of his and pushed it away, and he looked almost upset for a second before I worked at the buttons myself, my fingers somehow even more clumsy and awkward than usual.

                “Christ, Harry,” he mumbled, and I tried for a laugh as I wormed my way out from underneath him and stood up beside the bed because it was a whole lot easier to do things like buttons when I wasn’t pinned underneath someone. Plus I really wanted to take my shoes off. John turned just a little, sitting on his knees, and fixed his eyes on me while I stepped out of my shoes. The heavy gaze, the weight of his money eyes, made me something like self-conscious, so I watched the floor instead as I finally got the shirt totally undone and slid it off my shoulders. He grabbed at the front of his pants, like he needed to adjust himself or something, but he didn’t move his hand, instead just rubbing there softly, obviously, and that, that right there was unexpected. He was… yeah. And he said other people had bad taste. I played at the button of my jeans, but he stopped me with a sharp shake of his head, instead having me come closer to the bed. He undid the button himself, a quick, practiced movement, and they, being far too big for me, just sort of fell after that. He pulled at my underwear next and sent them to the floor with my pants, then fell backwards, drawing me with him to land on top.

                His pants scraped at me, at my legs and my ass and my everything. I was too sensitive, I decided, feeling too much too soon, and I squirmed. He laid his hands on my hips to still me, his face tight and still too controlled but a certain fire blazing in his eyes.

                “John, I don’t… I’m… tell me what to do, okay? Your pants are scratchy.” His breath slipped through his teeth in a hiss, his fingers spasming and probably leaving bruises where he had them settled. “Just, ask me to do something. Whatever you want. I’ve never _done_ this, John, I’m lost.” I mean, I knew the basics, of course. Hands, affection, touching and kissing and another warm body, I figured that was all probably the same. The rest of it, though, the finer details, those were what I wanted, needed, him to direct me on. I saw thoughts shooting off behind his eyes, rapid fire and for once unhidden.

                “Whatever I want? That’s a silly thing to offer a man like me, you know. I might take you at your word.” I watched him breath hard, deep and heavy breaths that expanded his chest and made me shift a little.

                “I meant it, just tell me something! I don’t just want to sit here like an idiot while you do everything. No one’s ever called me a selfish lover, okay?” His breath caught and he nodded, fast and looking almost painful.

                “Alright, doll. My little doll, pretty thing, my Harry. Tell me, however, if I ask for anything you’re uncomfortable with, or anything you don’t want to do. I do not want to force you into anything; you’re too important for that and I want you to enjoy yourself too. Would you be willing to suck me?” A surprising shock ran through me, excitement zinging from my head to my toes, and that was… I could’ve done with knowing all this earlier. Okay. Well. Better late than never, I guess.

                “Surprisingly? Yeah. Just let me,” I climbed off of him and wormed my way down, pulling his pants and things off with ease. He made a particularly interesting noise, then, and I felt probably undeservedly proud of myself. I regarded his dick mulishly when it sprang forth, and touched it gently, as if it were somehow worlds different from my own. His fingers squeezed his comforter tightly, his face pinched and drawn about his mouth and his eyes, and I directed my handful towards my mouth. I licked the head of it once and tasted salt, and it spoke to some base part of me, some instinctual place, and I shuddered a bit. He was biting his tongue, I noted, and biting it hard. I wondered why he was so unwilling to make noise after he’d already drawn some pretty awful sounds out of me. I resolved to make him noisy and put as much of him as I could in my mouth, and while I probably wasn’t too awful good at it, he still grabbed my hair in a death grip and bowed off the bed, further into my mouth. He was still silent, though. I swallowed around him, choking and gagging just a little as I got him back to a place where I could handle him, and a sharp gasp escaped him before he managed to silence himself again.

                I tongued the head of him, carefully moving my hands to where I could grip the parts of him my mouth couldn’t, and finally found a rhythm that the both of us seemed to like. I did that for a while, bobbing my head and alternating between soft and hard, between sucking and licking, finding myself getting pretty into it, just like I had with the women I’d been with, but then he started pulling my hair. I didn’t want to go, though; I was perfectly happy where I was, thank you very much. He tugged harder, hand clenching and something frantic in his eyes.

                “Harry, Harry, Harry,” he chanted, and I moved one of my hands to gently cradle his balls, something I’d generally liked, and he pulled again. I threatened teeth for one brief moment, and that made him relax his grip. “Harry,” he said one final time, apparently all the warning I was going to get because then he was coming down my throat, going limp and relaxed before me. I swallowed what I could, a little still getting on my cheek and the corner of my mouth as I pulled off of him. He had this stupefied look on his face, mouth gaping open and eyes hazy and far away. I grinned, sharp and fast, and he laughed.

                “Was that okay?” I asked, and he looked suddenly incredulous.

                “What do you think? I came down your fucking throat. Why didn’t you get off? I didn’t want-,” he tried, and I decided that I was going to take pleasure in fucking with him for once, since he got to bother me so damned often.

                “Yeah? Well, I did. So there.” He sat up, slow and deliberate, me still between his legs, and swiped his thumb through the mess on my face, cleaning me off. He had something thoughtful on his face that quite honestly made me nervous. Maybe for once lipping off _wasn’t_ the right choice to make in a situation. That was new.

                “Disobedient,” he said, voice even, careful, “Reckless, defiant. No manners to speak of.”  It was like he was spouting off a list, like he was saying it by rote, and I felt myself moving backwards a little, wide eyed. He stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, not hard but very obviously there.

                “Yup, that’s me? So what?” He smiled, all teeth, a tiger smile. He pressed his thumb under my chin, tilted it up and just looked at me for a moment. I bared my own teeth in a quick flash, nothing threatening but more a show that I had them too, that I could bite.

                “Why don’t I teach you a few, hm? Not for the outside world, obviously; I’ve learned to pick my battles and to ask you to be polite there is far too much. You wouldn’t be yourself if you were anyhow. But perhaps in here you could manage it a while, just for me. I like the idea of it, you know; you calling me a scumbag, a bastard, a criminal, in everyone else’s face, and then coming in here with me and giving me that pretty little sweet smile of yours, looking at me with those big eyes.” His eyes were going just a touch far away, a touch distant, and his breath was speeding up. I could almost hear his heartbeat, I decided, and I did see his cock twitch again. So that was how he wanted to play, huh? Well, if that was what he wanted, he could damn well work for it. He was too used to having everything handed to him.

                “You really think you could, don’t you? Wow, that’s… I’ve seen some deluded people, but you have to take the cake. I’ve had things a whole lot tougher than you that wanted me to come to heel, and look at me now!” He shook his head and grinned, a match to the one on my own face.

                “Confident too, aren’t you, Mr. Dresden?” I laughed and pressed one hand solid into his chest, forced him back down.

                “It’s not just confidence if you can back it up, Johnny.” And then the fucker rolled us over.

                “So I’ve always thought,” he told me, and kissed me hard. He slipped his tongue in my mouth when I gasped and felt him getting hard again against my belly. I thrust up against his hip bone, and he laughed into my mouth as he pulled away. He shifted a little, so his thigh was between my legs, and pressed it against my dick. I jerked against the pressure, the friction that was always so-close-but-not-enough. He looked insufferably smug so I tilted my head back enough that I couldn’t see his stupid face, grabbed his shoulders, and arched off the bed into him. That was when that fucking _ass_ moved his leg. And his body. I was left lying there, just this side of frantic, my fingers trembling because I’d been right there, right there and _fuck it_. I grabbed my dick, intent on finishing this myself if he wasn’t going to, but he shook his head and grabbed my wrist in a grip like iron, stilling me.

                “Damn it, John, if you don’t…” I trailed off because I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted him to do, or what I’d do if he didn’t do it. John’s eyes sparked.

                “You’re not coming yet, Harry. I’m nowhere near through with you.”

                “I’ll get hard again, just let me,” I said, and he only shook his head one more time.

                “No, and no amount of those puppy dog eyes is going to make me change my mind, although I must admit that they’d probably work quite well in any other situation. You really are adorable, Harry.” I wondered why he kept saying stuff like that. I couldn’t see where it could actually be true, honestly; I mean, I wasn’t ugly, I guessed, or at least not hideous, but he talked about me like I was… I don’t know, Adonis or something. Except with way less muscles and more pouty lips or something. I just said I don’t know, okay? Jeez. You wouldn’t have been thinking clearly just then either.

                “What do you want?” I finally asked, because there had to have been something.

                “Hands and knees,” he said, voice playfully regal, and I really don’t want to admit to how quickly I scrambled up to that position, my cock bobbing against my belly, my mouth open and my cheeks probably painfully crimson. He let in a sharp gasp of air. “Christ,” he said again, and I laughed.

                “Can you not handle it, Johnny? Come on, take the heat or get out of the kitchen, all that jazz.” He swatted my ass and my hips jerked and… really? I say again, I could’ve stood knowing this maybe a decade or so sooner.

                “I assure you, Harry, that I can handle you perfectly well, and I suggest you stop mouthing off to me if you want to get yours.” Ooh, looked like I’d struck a nerve! I was about to say something else that was probably really stupid and ill-advised when he slid a finger, slick with something, inside me. I yelped, my body not sure about whether to press against him or reel away. I finally settled for staying comfortably in the middle, falling to my elbows instead of my hands, and he moved it and hit something and I bit the inside of my cheek hard to keep from making noise. A sort of squeak still fell out, though.

                “John,” I finally said, the name getting drawn out too far, and when I caught a peek of him, he was flushed pink with triumph, with victory.

                “Why don’t we try Mr. Marcone, hm?” he asked me, another finger slipping in. No way in hell.

                “Fuck you,” I mumbled, and he just went still, a sigh forming heavily on his lips.

                “Harry, manners. I’ve already explained this, have I not? In this, if nothing else, listen to me. Trust me. Have I ever hurt you intentionally?” The words made me choke, my hips canting back against his still fingers, my eyes clenched closed.

                “No, no, John, Mr. Marcone, come _on._ ” He nodded once, sound, and moved them again, scissoring them wide until my knees wanted to give out under me, until they were spreading wider to bear more of me to him. Apparently my body is a bastard. A huge, traitorous bastard. I also have this sneaking suspicion that somehow it’s not my fault. Anyway. At least John seemed to be being not a huge prick now, though, because he was going at a steady pace, letting me rock leisurely against him, and eventually he even put a third one in me and I groaned from low in my chest. My upper arms were starting to waver and he bent down to kiss my cheek. His lips felt cool against the flaming skin.

                “I really do… Harry, I love you. Do you?” he asked me, and I managed a grin, a sharp, stilted chuckle.

                “Yeah, John, I do. I love you too.” He tore his fingers out of me, too fast, and I gasped. He was behind me in seconds, his hands digging new bruises into my hips.

                “You have no idea how this feels, do you? Seeing you willingly like this, on your hands and knees for me. It’s… exhilarating, to see someone as strong as you stay your hand for me. To see you willingly strip yourself of your bravado and your sharp tongue. My god, Harry, tell me. Tell me that you really do want me. Tell me you want this. I need to… Harry I need to hear you tell me that.” Well… at this point, he honestly kind of deserved it, and when I turned to glance at him over my shoulder, he had this look on his face, desperate and starkly wanting, uncontrolled. He was… I don’t think he’s ever looked more amazing than just then, with those flashes of pink on his face and the wild want and desperation and humanity in his green eyes.

                “Of course I do. I wouldn’t be letting you do this if I didn’t; I want you, John. All of you.” He was shaking, I noted, his hand and his thighs where they touched mine. His dick was heavy on the curve of my ass, the small of my back. “I love you, you know? You’re strong, you’re handsome, you’re funny. You’re you, I guess. I love you. I want you, even the parts of you that you don’t want yourself. I’ll take them.” Shaking harder, face tighter when I looked back, head down, eyes new money emeralds in the dim light. One more thing, one last set of words, and he’d be done for. I wondered if I’d finally get him to make a noise. “Please, Mr. Marcone. Please, John, I love you, I want you, please.” He was in me fast, one quick, deep, thrust, and my back bowed. We both made noise, then, loud, pathetic noise, and he squeezed me even harder with his good hand. He drooped down to rest his weight on my back after that, his chest sweat slick except for where the bandages were, and we probably should’ve waited until he healed for this, now that I thought about it. Oh well; nothing for it now, obviously, and that was certainly not the thing to be thinking of as he moved in me.

                No, the thing to be thinking of was that sensation, that feeling, deep and thrumming within me, fullness and pressure against that place he’d struck with his fingers, the one that made stars explode into supernovas behind my eyes. He thrust into me like he was meant to, like he’d known how to do it, how I liked it, for years. His too large hand wrapped around my dick and I felt suddenly weightless without its support on my hips, suddenly like I could not at all support myself. I felt his mouth on the back of my neck, worrying a place there with light sucks and nips and I was going insane with the sensation, I decided. I clenched my eyes closed again and whined, although I’ll never admit that out loud. It was embarrassing enough when John just heard it, I’m sure as hell not going to acknowledge it, you know?

                “Thank you, Harry, thank you,” he murmured against the mark he was making, and I tried to speak, to say anything, but it got turned into a groan as he squeezed me just so, hit that place dead on, hard, and then I was coming, I was close to crying. He bit where he’d been nipping and managed a few more harsh, animal thrusts into me before his body got ahead of him and he lost his rhythm, got shallow and unsteady and clumsy. He came in me then, another moan falling from him against the tender flesh of the back of my neck. I collapsed after that, my arms and my legs tired of supporting me, and he slid out of me, narrowly missing falling on top of me. Instead, he fell just to one side and drew me against him.

                “I’m sticky,” I murmured, and he snorted into my hair.

                “Hush, sleep for a while. I’ll have you clean when you next awaken.” I decided in my hazy, sleepy state that that was probably good enough, and dropped off to sleep in minutes.

* * *

  

                The next day, I discovered that John had told me the truth because I was pretty much clean. I was even decked out in a pair of pajamas, my head settled on the not-bandaged side of his chest and his hand in my hair. All in all, I was pretty comfortable. Therefore I very logically had to get up and go to my office. I still say my life is one big cosmic joke.  

                I managed to get up without waking John (which still surprises me to this day) but I did at least find a pencil and a pad of paper in his desk and write a note for him so he wouldn’t think I’d one-night-stand-ed him.

                Anyway, the one thing I could probably really learn to love about John’s people was that they were a readily available source of vehicular transportation for me. Maybe Murphy was right and I really did need to suck it up and get my license. Or maybe I could just continue stubbornly avoiding the changing of time and subscribe to the Nathan Hendricks Taxi Service. I mean, he only looked a _tiny_ bit annoyed to drive me across town at seven in the morning, so I figured it was fine. Ahem.

                I got there before Murphy for once, which was a real rarity, but it was one I couldn’t be bothered to enjoy. That office is boring without Murphy, you know? Ah well. At least I got to organize my filing cabinet for the first in about six months. Or at least I got to start organizing it, because I got two visitors after I’d gotten about a half an hour into it. They weren’t even good visitors, and they didn’t even bother knocking because they didn’t have to. Royalty is like that, I guess.

                “Harry, sweet,” Mab said, striding through my office door and into my part of the office, her frozen hand settling on my cheek.

                “Get out,” I said, cool as I could manage, hopefully level and leaving no room for negotiation. Maeve laughed from where she stood by her mother, her dress almost indecently short with tassels that certainly had to tickle her thighs. Or at least would have if she were human. Or maybe they did anyway. I had no idea.  I swallowed and jerked my face away from her touch.

                “Silly boy,” she said, “I’ve come to help you, the both of us have. There is a storm on the horizon, you know, a wicked storm of rage like mine and heat like my counterpart’s. I want only to offer my shelter from this storm. Your new Baron’s shadow will not be sufficient, you see; they’ll still kill you. Perhaps even get him to do it, depending on who gets the choice. My shadow, though… Harry, child, were you my knight, I would not mistreat you too severely. I would not have you harm those dear to you. The others who would have you work for him, however, they would do as they pleased. Still others would murder you in cold blood and sleep that night as softly as a babe. Am I not a better prospect?” I had no idea what she was talking about.

                “Mab, no one’s trying to get me to work for them or kill me except for you.” Maeve cackled, and that couldn’t have been a good sign.

                “Oh, mother, he’s such a fool! He hasn’t even heard! Why, there’s a battle on for you, my little Wizardling! All of those who think they’ve got a claim to you or a right to you or the ability to have you, sending their best fighters to get you! It’ll happen tomorrow at dusk, darling, neutral territory where none will have an advantage!” She giggled. “The White Council, the Red Court, the Knights of the Blackened Denarius, and Cowl! Aren’t we a better option, sweet?” Oh, Hell’s Bells. Why would I have thought that anything would get any easier now? I almost wished that they could lie to me because at least then I could call them liars.

                “I’d still be selling myself,” I said, thoughtless, my mind suddenly far away. “Now get out of my office.” Mab huffed.

                “Such poor professionalism. I question how you keep any clients with such an attitude. Ah, well. You know how to reach me when you change your mind. I will leave you with this, however; would you prefer to rely on their mercy, or my own?” And then she and her daughter were gone, Maeve blowing me a kiss on her way out. I felt sick, and suddenly not at all like cleaning my filing cabinet. I sat on my desk staring at the wall for I don’t know how long before Murphy came in, Jack in tow. She was by me in seconds, worry etched into her eyes but not on her face.

                “He didn’t already do something, did he?” she asked, voice quick, low and conspiratorial, and I managed to crack a smile.

                “Johnny? Nah, perfect gentleman. Mab and Maeve just came by. Jack, can you go into Murphy’s part of the office for a second? Please?” I asked, and he went wide eyed and ran off. Murphy gripped my arm hard.

                “What did they do to you now?” she asked me, and I laughed.

                “Right now? Nothing. But… Murphy, there’s… everyone we’ve had a run in with lately, the Nickelheads, the vampires, Cowl… they’re going to fight for me. So is the Council. Murphy, I’m… I’m really scared. I don’t… I can’t fight all of them. Not at once. This is legal. Murphy, Murphy, I can’t stop them and I’m _terrified!_ Mab and Maeve… they offered me the Knighthood. A way out. None of them could touch me if I were the Winter Knight. It’s tempting. It’s always been tempting. Help me, please, tell me what to do. You’re smarter than me, Murphy,” I whispered, and at that moment I realized I was crying. All my boogeymen, and here they were, knocking at my door. I wondered if this was the end, the final showdown. I wondered if I was going to die now that I’d finally found myself a place in the world, a place where I got to be happy. It really would only make sense.

                Murphy didn’t speak. I don’t think she knew what to say. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around my shoulders, my neck, her hands cradling my head against her collarbones. I tried to keep my crying quiet so we could both pretend I wasn’t doing it, but I don’t know how well it worked. Murphy hummed something that sounded Irish and wondered if it was a lullaby.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                Harry was gone the next morning, but then I’d honestly expected that. The note on the pillow beside me explaining where he was, however, was rather unexpected, but equally appreciated. I dressed and went into the office with a smile that only grew when Nathan complained about how far away Harry’s office building was whilst he drove me to mine. I wondered for a moment if Harry would be willing to let me put a down payment on a nicer one that was closer by for him. Probably not; were I to hazard a guess I’d say that that would quickly become another one of my losing battles.

                I was not able to think on this for long, however, as I very quickly received a visitor. I was unsure if I was pleased or otherwise to see her; perhaps indifferent was the best, I decided, as Ms. Bianca St. Claire entered my office and sat in the soft red chair before my desk. I crossed my hands beneath my chin and pasted a look of confusion and interest to my face.

                “Mr. Marcone,” she said, “may I ask what brought on the sudden change?”

                “What do you mean, Ms. St. Claire?” I asked her, letting myself give a small laugh.

                “The change, Mr. Marcone. You used to hire such lovely ladies, and now you’ve got the Wizard! So odd! Perhaps I should’ve suspected, after your last visit. Ah, well. Love changes a man, doesn’t it? I’ve never cared for it, myself. Slackens the business a bit, you understand.”

                “Might I ask how you discovered a connection between myself and Mr. Dresden?” She laughed, her white teeth flashing under the room’s lights.

                “I smell him all over you, Mr. Marcone, in your skin and your hair and your clothes. Ah, but that is only tenuously related to my reasoning for coming here today, I’m afraid. Perhaps we’ll find a better time to speak of that later. I trust that you have discovered what I truly am, Mr. Marcone?”

                “Red Court, yes?” I asked, and she nodded, a smile still tracing her mouth.

                “But do you know what that means, Mr. Marcone? Do you know what the Red Court is?” I didn’t, but I certainly didn’t want to tell her that. She only laughed again, and I could see that she was able to see my uncertainty even without words. “You mustn’t be ashamed to not know; you are only just starting out, after all! I am a vampire, Mr. Marcone, and I feed on blood, as your storybook vampires do. I do not, however, have any sort of weakness to articles of faith, or to garlic, or any other such nonsense; that is the Black Court, and their weaknesses have rendered all but the best of them extinct. Now, this is also unrelated to today’s topic of discussion; I am going to kill your little Wizard.” I froze. Was she being serious? I couldn’t tell; she was smiling, still, but her eyes weren’t playful.

                “Ms. St. Claire?” I asked, and she let her eyes narrow as she leaned over my desk to look at me more closely.

                “Do you think I am playing? I assure you that I am not. That little fool has been a thorn in my side since our first meeting, has killed my kin and freed my Thralls. I have wanted his blood upon my tongue, his life within my hands, for _ages_ , and now I may have it. I shall fight for my right to his blood on the morrow, as will many others. I’ve… poisoned the well a bit, however, and so I must tell you now that my victory is near enough as to be assured. Do not fight me for this, Mr. Marcone, do not join in this fray, and he will die smiling. I will not hurt him any more than necessary.” No. He would not, could not, die. Not like that, as a prize in some silly fight. I smiled at her, calm and polite even though I felt anything but.

                “Of course, Ms. St. Claire. May I ask where this fight of yours will be head, so that I might be certain to remain clear of it?” Her laughter sounded something close to painful.

                “Oh, you must think me small-minded! I know well enough why you want to know; you want to fight, don’t you? Ah, well! I suppose I cannot stop you! Dusk, at Wrigley Field. I suppose I’ll see you there, Mr. Marcone. I look forward to fighting you.” And so she left, a smile still curling her lips, and I couldn’t help but feel that I’d been played somehow, set up. It didn’t matter; if Harry was at risk, I would fight. I would keep him safe. I’d promised myself. How to do it, though? Bianca herself was strong, if the way she spoke was true, and she’d said that there would be others, and despite her ‘poisoning of the well’ I didn’t trust that they would be anything close to a non-issue.   

                That was when I saw the glint of silver behind my eyes again. The coin. I knew Carpenter had it; it would be a simple operation to take it. Quick, easy as breathing, in and out. No one would need to know. No one would need to know, and I could keep him _safe._ I could make it so he never got hurt again. That was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Of course. I just needed the damned coin. I gnashed my teeth, tapped a drumbeat on my desk, fast and compulsive, my eyes flickering around the room. I needed to get it immediately, but how? No planning, that wasn’t my style. I wasn’t impulsive; I waited, I plotted, I got away clean. All my people did. I didn’t even know where or if the man worked. I’d need my best people on it, but how could I be certain that none of them would touch the coin before me? I would need to be there.

                I’d only take Hendricks along with me, I decided; he knew of magic and he’d seen the coins before. He’d know what to look for, just as I would. The man had a family. I wondered what would get them all out of the house for long enough. Going during schooling hours would solve the children, but what of the mother? She could very easily recognize my face, somehow let Harry know I’d been there, and that wouldn’t do. I was under no illusions that he would in any way approve of what I was doing, most certainly not if it involved breaking into one of his dearest friend’s home. I knew, however, that it was necessary, and so I found Hendricks and told him of what was to happen. He was understandably unwilling, but I suppose he’s learned that at times it is best not to argue with me, and so we had a plan set up for that evening.

                We’d play as though we were common thieves, keep our faces covered. We’d not hurt them, of course; they had no involvement in any of this, but I needed the coin. I was unable to work throughout that day for the nerves, and I was nearly vibrating with tension by the time evening rolled around and Hendricks and I got ourselves ready. The drive to Carpenter’s house was tersely silent, and I truly wished that these actions I was about to undertake would be rendered unnecessary, but I held out no hope of that.

                I had to do this. I would not, could not, see Harry dead or enslaved when I could do something to prevent it. Hendricks took a deep breath when we pulled the car up to his home and climbed out, quick and practiced, and he immediately began to fiddle with the doorknob whilst I stood watch. It turned out to be entirely pointless because then the door opened of its own accord, Carpenter standing on the other side with a wan smile on his face.

                “I’m afraid it’s rather pointless, trying to rob a man of god,” he told us, “Please, come in Mr. Marcone, Mr. Hendricks. I believe we need to have a talk. Ah, and try to be quiet; Charity and my children are in bed, and I’d rather not awaken them. It was trouble enough getting them to sleep tonight.” I stared, and removed the mask I’d donned. Hendricks did the same as we stepped inside, and he, clad in decidedly nonthreatening pajamas, closed the door quietly behind us and gestured for us to sit on his old, clean, comfortably worn couch.

                “May I ask how you discovered that we’d be here?” I whispered out of respect.

                “I say again, Mr. Marcone, that robbing a man of god, especially with intentions like yours, is a fool’s errand.” I tried to smile, polite and neutral, but I could see in his face that he didn’t buy a moment of it.

                “What intentions do you mean?”

                “You desire the coin again. I had thought we’d come to an agreement, John.” I tensed, stared at the floor.

                “Harry will be killed or bound tomorrow at dusk if I do not obtain that coin. I need it to protect him.” Carpenter shook his head, his arms crossed and his eyes serious. He’d never let me take the damn thing, I knew that, no matter the consequences. Too good of a man to watch me take something so corrupted.

                “Even if I wanted you to have one, they are already gone. I would not keep such things in my home, where the children could find them. Now, can I ask what you mean by saying that Harry will be harmed tomorrow?” I clenched the fist on the opposite side of him, the one he couldn’t see, and Hendricks settled a hand on my shoulder.

                “There will be a fight for him, among those who claim to have a right to him. I need a coin so that I may fight for him myself.”

                “No, John. One of those coins would not help you in such a situation, only hinder you, put you under Nicodemus’ dominion, and as I’ll assume he’s involved with this somehow, all that would occur would be him using you to further himself. No, you will fight in this battle as a man, and I shall fight alongside you, as, I’m sure, will Ms. Murphy and Mr. Kincaid, in addition to all of Harry’s other friends. If what you say is true, we will not let anything happen to him. Now, we must discuss this matter of the coin further. You cannot keep seeking it out whenever you find yourself facing someone or something stronger than you.” It wasn’t my fault that I’d been born a mortal, that I’d been born weak and fleeting. I had to become stronger; I’d thought the Barony would do it, would set me on an even playing field, but obviously I’d been wrong. I needed more. I had to stand equal to Harry; I had to be in his world as he was in mine. I had to protect him. If I needed the coin to do so, I would take it.

                “I must be stronger. I will be stronger. That coin-,” he interrupted with a hand and a shake of his head.

                “Is not the way to do it. Harry would not want you to, John, and you know that as well as I. The coins change people. If they did not, then Harry would take one up himself. No matter how pure the intentions, the fallen will overcome them. You are a strong man, Mr. Marcone, but you are not as strong as them. No one is. No, to fight the monsters, the best approach is to remain human.” I swallowed. If Harry knew of this… he would hate me again. I couldn’t… I would not. Not again. I couldn’t leave him, not for… not for a coin, for power. His friends could help me. He could help me himself. He and I, we and them, we could be as unstoppable as any. Yes, that would be enough. It would have to be, if I wanted to keep Harry by my side. I had to remain human, as Michael had said.

                “You will not tell Harry?” I asked, and he settled a hand on the shoulder that Nathan wasn’t touching.

                “Will you make me a promise that the coins will remain forever out of your mind? If you do so, then no, Harry will not hear of this. If you cannot make me such a promise, however, then you are not the man I thought you to be, and Harry will know what you’ve tried tonight.” I nodded and swallowed, and truly meant the words I spoke for the first time in relation to this particular cause.

                “I swear it to you, Michael. I will never touch one of those coins, not at the cost of Harry, not when my only reason for taking one would be to keep him safe.” Michael nodded.

                “Once more, perhaps against better judgment, I am compelled to believe you. Harry will not hear of this from me. Now, go home for the evening, won’t you? If we’re to fight tomorrow at dusk, then we must both have rest. Call me in the morning, would you? So that I might know where to be.” I nodded and he gave me his phone number, at which point Hendricks and I stood and left. I must say that I felt quite the fool, but I could only laugh. Perhaps Harry was rubbing off on me more than I’d first thought.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry’s POV

                I went to sleep at Murphy’s that night, but it wasn’t entirely my choice. Mostly, it was Murphy’s, to tell the truth; she hadn’t wanted me alone, so I took the couch in her house while Jack kept the guest room. I didn’t sleep well even though the couch was comfortable, partly because my legs were hanging off of the tiny thing from the knees down and partly because I was terrified. I was going to die. This might be the last night I’d get to spend with Murphy, with anyone. I hadn’t wanted to lose it. I’d wanted to listen to Jack, innocent Jack whose life I’d saved, who had no idea what was going on, talk about his school and his new friends and his happiness forever. I’d wanted to watch Murphy smile. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t know if I had a choice.

                The next morning was unwelcome, but at least the sunrise was pretty. Maybe the Almighty was trying to make up for lost time with me. That thought made me laugh a little, and Murphy made me breakfast.

                “Thanks, Murph,” I said, and suddenly she was hugging me.  Jack wasn’t awake yet and I was glad because both of us were crying then, both of us were shaking desperately and it felt like the whole world was ending.

                “This can’t happen, Harry. It can’t end like this. Not after… we’ve faced the world together, Harry, you and me and all of our friends. This isn’t how the story ends.” I had my head on top of hers, still crying, and I had the inane thought that I had to be messing up her hair. I’d never expected a happy ending, not really, not since my father had died. I’d always known that my life would be one of the tragedies, not the comedies, not the fairytales. Maybe this was fitting, this final battle. I just hoped that I did get someone who only wanted to kill me, rather than someone who wanted to own me. I wondered how John would react, once he heard about what happened. I wondered how I’d know who won. Maybe I’d be fetched and delivered to the winner with a bow on my head.

                “We had a good run, Karrin,” I said because I couldn’t think of anything else, and she punched me hard.

                “Don’t talk like that. I just told you that this isn’t the end. Don’t let them write the rest of your story for you.” I smiled.

                “I wasn’t made for happy endings. I’d rather go out in a blaze now, in a way no one I care about can get hurt, than any other way. I love you, Karrin, you know that, right? You and Michael and the Alphas and Kincaid and Ivy and Jack and everybody. You’ll tell John that for me, right? Tomorrow?”

                “We’ll figure something out, Harry. We always do. You can tell him yourself.”

                “But if I don’t?” She hiccupped and hid it in a cough. I didn’t point it out because she’d have done the same for me.

                “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll tell him. Don’t expect me to give him a kiss for you, though.” I laughed.

                “I would never wish such a terrible fate on anyone else! Now listen to me for a minute, okay? There’s a lot of stuff in my subbasement, some of it dangerous. There’s a skull down there, on the third shelf. When I’m… tomorrow, go down there and say ‘Bob, wake up’. He’ll ask some questions, but you can trust him. Tell him the truth. Tell him that I wanted you to have him. He’ll explain what to do with everything down there. Keep him safe, okay? Don’t give him to anybody.” She swallowed, the sound thick in her throat.

                “Yeah. Anything else?”

                “Mouse and Mister love Ivy. The kid could a pet or two, if Kincaid’s willing. If not, II trust your judgment. I’m happy as long as they don’t end up in a shelter. And this,” I paused for a moment to remove my pentacle, “I want Thomas to have. And there’s… oh, Hell’s Bells, I need to go home, just for a little while. Just, look, there’ll be a ring on my mantle. Make sure John gets it. As for the rest of my stuff, my books and my clothes and anything else you happen to find upstairs, do whatever you think is best with all that. Now, I need to run. Just… all of you stop by, if you can, so I can…” I wanted to say ‘say goodbye’ but I couldn’t quite manage to get the words out. I think Murphy knew what I meant anyway because she nodded.

                “Of course, Harry,” she told me, and as I left her home and hailed a cab, I took back every wish I’d ever made for her to be more agreeable.

* * *

 

                When I got home, I took the charmed-to-hell-and-back ring that John had given me and brought it down to my lab. I didn’t wake Bob up, though. I wanted to do this, my last project, by myself. It seemed only fitting, really, and besides, the work was distracting.

                It wasn’t exactly difficult, laying another spell over the countless others already on the thing, nor was it too challenging to personalize the ones already there a little more, to make them more suited to the modern era, to offering a little more protection to bullets in addition to blades and to magic. I was proud of it when I was done anyway, though, proud to feel that the cool magic already there had been shifted to something warmer, something that felt like me. I put it back in the ring box with a little note to tell John what to do to activate the little extra I’d put in, and settled myself on my couch. Mouse and Mister both climbed up with me, draping themselves warmly over my body because they were too smart to be fooled into thinking that nothing was wrong.

                I sat with them for a while, thinking and considering anything I could possibly do and not thinking of a damn thing, and then Murphy and Michael barged in, grinning brightly even though I couldn’t see where they had the right. They dragged me to my feet and out the door without and explanation even though I was flailing like a madman.

                “What the hell?” I asked, shambling and stumbling so I could avoid falling on my ass as they dragged me into Michael’s truck, and they laughed.

                “We’re saving your ass!” Murphy said, her eyes sharp chips of ice, and Michael clapped me on the shoulder. I realized that we were going directly to John’s place and I gaped.

                “You _told_ him?” I asked, and Murphy shook her head.

                “He found out on his own. Apparently Bianca came by to tell him to stay out of it, which, obviously, didn’t happen. He called us instead. We’re going to fight for you, Harry.” She said it like a fact, and I guess maybe it was. When she talked like that, nothing in the whole world was going to stand in her way; she’d tear the whole fucking universe down if she had to, piece by piece. That wasn’t going to stop me from protesting, though; it was dangerous, too many people, dangerous people, dangerous beings, were going to be there. If I had to die, I didn’t want them coming with me. They had a lot left to give. I… I’d been worn out for a long time.

                “No,” I said as we pulled into John’s driveway and they dragged me inside to that sitting room again, “I won’t let you, none of you.” It was at that point that I noticed that the whole damn room was full; Thomas was sprawled across a couch like he owned it, John beside him and glaring distastefully, the Alphas were sitting wherever they could find a place, the floor, scattered chairs, tables and all, and Kincaid and Ivy sat together on the loveseat where John and I had been not long before. “What?” I asked again, and they all gave me this very particular withering look that I’d grown far too used to over the years. Butters came out of the kitchen and I doubled over with laughter. Butters? They’d even gotten _Butters_ involved?  

                “Did I miss something?” he asked, and I laughed even harder.

                “This is so… why are you all doing this? In what world do I deserve… this? You all? What have I done to get people like you all?” I asked, and Michael touched my shoulder softly.

                “It was difficult to get Charity to stay home, the same with Daniel and Molly, as they are the only two old enough to realize what is happening.”

                “Yeah; Jack was fighting to come along too.”

                “We love you, you lunatic,” Thomas said.

                “Indeed,” John said, “It was rather a lot of work to get you by my side. I’m not letting you go that easily.” I laughed again, laughed until I cried, and they were all there, they were cradling me and hushing me and it was like nothing I’d ever felt before. At that moment, I realized what I’d always hoped. I’d found a place for myself, a place where I fit easy as breathing, easy as a puzzle piece. It had taken me almost thirty years, but damn it, I was _home._ These people, these were my people. I’d never belonged anywhere before, and it was a strange sensation, realizing that I finally did. It confused the hell out of me, actually, but I was… my god, I was happy. If these people, all of them so strong, so amazing, had anything to say about it, I was going to live, and that… I had this weird feeling that for once, that was going to be enough.

* * *

 

                John, yet another militia at his back, this one including all of my friends, and me, left his home about an hour before dusk. We didn’t speak a lot because there wasn’t much to say, but I rode in the backseat of his car with him and held his hand in a death grip. Gard, who’d arrived about fifteen minutes before we were set to leave, periodically glanced into the rearview mirror at us and smirked, as did Hendricks, who just sort of rolled his eyes as if he thought we were all dumb. I realized something all of a sudden, in the backseat of that car, and it made me turn my gaze to him incredulously.

                “John. You just got out of the hospital. You can move a whole one of your arms without what I assume is miserable and debilitating pain. And you’re about to lead a charge against some of the biggest supernatural badasses from both sides of the Nevernever. Should I even bother telling you how ridiculous this is?” He cocked his head, a small but genuine smile on his lips.

                “And? I love you, Harry. I need to do this, I must. If you died because I was inactive, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. If this must happen, I will say that I fought, and if I die, then I will die fighting as well.” He said it so casually, like we were talking over a light lunch instead of in a car on the way to his possible suicide mission. I realized at that exact moment that there was no point in arguing with him about that because we had pulled up to Wrigley Field and John was stepping out, brazen and bold, like the whole world was at his fingertips, opening up for him and him alone. Hell, maybe it was, in his mind; I always figured his head was a weird place. I caught him by his good hand before he got too far away, and pulled him around into a quick kiss.

                “I love you too, John. Try not to die, okay?”

                “I could tell you the same,” he murmured, and we walked onto the field together, all of my friends, all of his people, behind and around us. The people and the beings already there, all the ones Maeve had mentioned plus Mab and Maeve themselves and some folks from the other two vampire courts (and I’d called myself terrified before, but I don’t think any horror I’ve ever felt could compare to that moment, that moment when I saw everyone who’d ever wanted me dead or enslaved together in that neat little conglomeration) stared at us, and the Merlin’s booming, faintly British voice called order.

                “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, and John stepped forward, his back straight and chest puffed out and chin lifted.

                “This is the place where those who feel they’ve a claim to Harry’s life shall fight for it, correct? We have a claim, and so we shall fight. It’s quite rude, by the way, holding an event like this and not inviting the guest of honor, and so I took the liberty of correcting the situation for you,” he said, gesturing at me with a flourish. I think that was probably the first time John going all Gentleman on somebody’s ass made me happy. The Merlin actually gaped.

                “Mr. Marcone! We had an agreement-,” he tried, and that certainly made me curious, but John held up a hand to cut him off.

                “Consider it null if you wish; it’s your own fault for being enough of a fool to believe a man who has made a profession of lying.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen the Merlin be legitimately shell-shocked, and Eb looked very much like he was watching a particularly entertaining play. I gave him a wave and a crooked grin, and John noted it with a touch of confusion.

                “Hello, Hoss,” Eb finally said, “I’m sorry for not telling you about the party, but there were certain… issues keeping my mouth shut.” I nodded.

                “I already know that this… whatever this is isn’t your fault; I’m sure you’ve tried to stop it often enough, but I’m also sure I can guess what’s happened; the Gatekeeper’s out, so I’m short one person to keep my ass in the clear, right?” Eb nodded.

                “That’s right. At least you’ve learned the game, Hoss.”

                “Shame I still can’t play it though, huh?” The Merlin glared at the both of us; he still hated that Eb was on the Senior Council now.

                “Silence,” he growled, “Baron Marcone, are you certain that it would be beneficial to you to renounce the agreement you made me? Without my signature, you will no longer hold you title.” John only laughed, and wait, the Merlin had signed for him to be Baron? What the hell?

                “You did precious little research on me, didn’t you? I wanted to become a Baron because I love that fool,” he said, pointing at me, “and wanted power to impress him with. I never meant a word I told you; killing him was the furthest thing from my mind, and remains so.” I didn’t know whether to be angry with him for making a deal to murder me with the Merlin or thrilled because he’d never thought of doing it. I settled for stopping in the middle and smacking him middling hard on the arm, deciding to talk to him about it and be angry about it later, when I wasn’t about to get murdered by an entire field of angry tough guys.

                “I see not how you could call me a fool, then. Consider my signature gone.” I thought for a moment and spoke without thinking, and even though that normally got me into trouble, I can’t help but think that this was one of my better choices.

                “And consider mine there to replace it,” I told John, a smile quirking my lips, and the Merlin tensed his mouth. It didn’t help his face much, in case you were wondering. It did piss him off just enough to order his Wizards (because obviously he wasn’t going to participate in this fight himself, no, it was nowhere near worth the risk to his life) to drag me up into the stands and bind me there, the Thorn Manacles thick and cold around my wrists. John tried to stop them but I waved him off, since I’d basically known that I wouldn’t be allowed to fight anyway. Eb at least sat beside me while the Merlin called for the fighting to begin, though, his hand settled heavy and blunt on my shoulder, his face losing its usual playful sparkle. I wasn’t afraid, though. I had the best people on the planet fighting for me, for my life, at my side. I had the people who’d made me a home. Everyone else, they just had soldiers and evil and inhuman brutality. I knew, sitting there, that warmth would win, even if it lost, even if I died. I’d gotten to be happy, and I’d never thought that I would. That right there, that was enough. I could go out happy, and I could go out proud. I had no reason to be afraid. At least not for myself.

* * *

 

Marcone’s POV

                Bianca hadn’t been kidding about poisoning the well. She and the others she’d brought with her, the disfigured and decomposing woman I’d seen at the party, a tall, overly attractive male with a cluster of equally beautiful girls around him, humans who walked like zombies and fought with abandon, with dead eyes, and countless other vampires who had apparently forgone human skin, leathery things with bulging bellies and wild eyes, all battled fiercely, their group much larger than all the others. The man and his women seemed to be inching their way towards Thomas, however, whilst Bianca was making her way towards myself.

                I glanced around briefly and found a cluster of Wizards battling fairytale monsters that were led by the party hostesses, Mab and Maeve, the Winter Queen and Lady, their magic flashing white hot and deadly too closely for my comfort, and behind me I heard the clash between the Denarians, led by Nicodemus, and Carpenter, as well as the man who Harry had called Cowl and the hooded girl who had been with him. Miss Murphy and the other people we’d brought were scattered liberally among the fighters, unorganized but effective, and I myself got my gun propped against my good shoulder so the kickback wouldn’t fell me. I aimed it and fired where I could, where I felt it would be best, and ended up sending one of the fairytale beasts blazing up with blue fire. I distantly heard Harry give a whoop and managed a smile as I continued to do more of the same, firing and diving from wild strikes of the creatures that remained uninterested in me and mine due to all the more powerful things lurking about.

                I struck one of the leathery creatures in the stomach and watched blood fly everywhere, far too much of it to be in one being, and another bullet, this one to the thing’s head, caused it to fall. The Wizard who’d been fighting it, a tall man with iron streaked black hair and a gray robe, gave me a nod of recognition before he moved onto another, the motion of his hands and the words on his lips causing the very earth to move and fight for him. Admittedly, he unnerved me just a bit, and as such I kept a bit of distance between us. I heard Murphy yell and turned in that direction, saw that she’d just been struck across the face hard with claws, saw that she was bleeding and snarling, and I took a shot at the thing that had done it. It fell with a howl, more blue fire pouring from it, and a few more shots from Murphy’s own gun had it melting into something gooey that was gone in minutes. Murphy went on her way, and I did as well. I supposed it was nice, at least in a situation like this, to be as underestimated as we were. That was when Bianca fell on me hard, her teeth bared just behind her ruby lips and going for my throat. I dived out of the way and barely managed to get on my feet again before she was coming for me once more, preternaturally fast and much too strong for a woman her size. I really would have to fire her, once I got home.

                “Mr. Marcone,” she hissed, her voice not how it usually was, but more of a husk, low and something close to seductive, “I must say I like you far better when you are in my establishment.” I laughed, shot at her, watched her dodge the bullets deftly, watched them strike whatever was unlucky enough to be behind her and making me refrain from fighting back whenever I saw any of my people in her vicinity.

                “I’m afraid it won’t be yours for much longer, Ms. St. Claire. I tend to frown on my employees trying to kill me.” She laughed.

                “Oh, you simply must forgive me, but I will see the Wizardling dead. My companions will as well, you understand, Mavra for the kin he has killed and Raith for the kin he has corrupted.” I growled, low and from deep within me.

                “What could he have done to you?” I asked, and she smiled, cocked her head sweetly.

                “He frustrates me. I am favored by the Red King, a Countess in my right, and yet he treats me as nothing. He demands information of me, dangerous information, and throws sunlight in my face, burns me. On one such occasion, he fooled me with his charm, his manners, treated me as a lady of my standing ought to be, and then, oh, then he asked me about _her,_ my poor dead girl, as if I had done it! As if he weren’t the most likely in the town!Of course I had to fight him, and he weakened me. It is his fault that another of mine is dead; I had to feed, and she came to me willingly. I hate him.” She said it blandly, but rage flashed behind her eyes at the disjointed story, and I saw patches in her flesh where leather peeked through. “I wonder, before he dies, would he like to hear of all the women you’ve made cry out? I’m sure he’d love it; rather self-conscious, that one. He really can’t compare to them, can he? Why do you want him so badly?” Another bullet, and this one hit her arm, but she didn’t even react and she hardly bled. She just kept coming towards me, her teeth bared, and I watched as the Wizards all fell back, as the gray robed man held up a white flag and fled to the stands.

                “He is far more perfect than any of them could ever be. I love him.” She laughed and lunged for me, caught my jacket sleeve and tore it nearly completely off.

                “Love? You’re a fool.” Her next lunge got skin, and blood dripped from me. She watched it as if it were nectar, and I grinned. I could, and did, use her distraction to get in a lucky shot, to hit her stomach and make the blood pour from her. She coughed, her eyes wide, and more of it spilled from her open lips. Once more I shot her, and then again, at which point my clip ran empty and I had to replace it. She took the opportunity to crawl forwards, desperate, and grab at my ankle, her teeth bared as if she’d bite me in her last moments. I managed to get the new clip in just in time to shoot her again, and again, and again, until she fell still upon the ground, blood that wasn’t hers staining the ground around her. I looked around rapidly again, took in the positions of all of my people, and found all of them (even the mortician with the nervous disposition who’d called himself Butters) holding their own very well, except for Raith, who was being swarmed by the other lovely creatures. The entire corner of the field was bathed in light from their marble skin, their silver white eyes.

                I ran for them so that I could help, passed Ivy (the girl handling magic like I’d never seen, different types in both hands, her body skipping about with butterfly grace, and she seemed ancient then, ancient like Harry said she was) and Kincaid (firing off shots like a professional, never missing, something fiery and demonic in his eyes, his teeth bared in a smile, and it truly was a strange creature who could smile in the face of a fight like this) on my way.

                “Oh, my _son,_ ” the man spoke to Thomas mockingly, sweeping his hair behind his shoulders and ear as he grappled with Raith, “How could you? Fighting on behalf of the _kine._ I did not raise you to be so… bestial.” So this was Raith’s father, the ruler of the White Court. He didn’t look like much. I took a shot at him, and though it struck, he didn’t even act as if he’d realized it, and though pink blood that looked as if it had been diluted with water spilled from the wound for a moment, it closed quickly. Thomas himself was fighting desperately, alley cat wild, while the girls drifted lazily and kept the space clear but for the two of them. Even I couldn’t manage to do much more than get a few lucky shots passed their guard.  

                “He’s not kine, he’s my brother,” Thomas hissed, his voice not his own, monstrous and low. The man laughed, his body flowing as he dodged and struck, professional, easy, while Thomas was beast, wild and uncontrolled, angry.

                “Ah, yes, your bitch mother’s second child. I suppose it’s only fitting, then, that he be killed as your other brothers. You’ve grown to like this one, have you not? Perhaps once his blood stains the Deeps you’ll be willing to join him. I truly wish your mother had had a girl; she’d have been beautiful, a real treat. I suppose one of your sisters could have the Wizard for a bit, Lara, I suppose; perhaps she could give me a girl of her blood. She herself would not be obedient, but perhaps once the line is diluted a bit…” What? He spoke as if… my god. I gritted my teeth hard and finally managed to ram my way through the guard of the women. They only laughed when I did it, their pale hands reaching for me, and Raith whipped his head around for a split second to see me. That was plenty of time for the man before him, obviously, as he was forced to the earth with a yell.

                I got the girls’ hands off of me, but it was a barely managed sort of thing. They were strong, even when they were like this, just playing with me, and I could see that that was all they were doing.

                “Fuck,” Thomas bit out, managing to pull himself back up to his feet, and the man turned his eyes to me, his head tilted just slightly. His eyes were unnerving, the silver bright and biting, and the features of Thomas’ face that I couldn’t match to Harry’s were easily traced to him.

                “More kine? You’ve fallen far, son of mine.”

                “I’m not your son,” Thomas snarled, “I’m not like you. I’ll never be like you.” The man stepped forward and touched Raith’s cheek, fingertips looking gentle but obviously not because Thomas looked close to wincing.

                “You have been like me since you awoke with that first husk. These humans, Thomas, are not worth your… affection. They are kine, all of them, even that poorly bred fool you call brother. I know where he got it, of course; your mother was a fool as well, ever willing to do something idiotic to make a point. Rebellious, that’s all she was, playing in things she did not understand, working spells beyond her years and her skill. She never loved me and I never loved her, and yet she played such a lovely game of pretend, just as you do. The magic in her blood, her pretty face, that was all that made her valuable. I truly, truly wish that she’d borne a woman.”

                “Harry is fine,” Thomas said, desperate, “He’s not kine. People aren’t kine. They’re people. They’re… they’re better than monsters like you. Like us.” The man moved his hand and sneered, the look twisting his proud face, and shoved Thomas hard as I fired another shot, this one into his chest. It bled for a little longer and he turned to me with rage in his eyes as Thomas struggled to get to his feet again. He stomped over and grabbed me by the throat, his grip too strong and cutting at my air. I scratched at his hands but never even managed to make a mark as he lifted me just slightly off the ground.

                “Lara,” he barked, and the eldest of the women came over, her clothes slightly torn and her body swaying, “Do you want this? It still seems fresh enough, and you have been weakened some,” he stated, and yes, he saw me as an animal, as no better than cattle. I managed to catch a flash of Harry’s face and there was worry painting it. The older man beside him was clutching his shoulder and looked as if he wanted to cover the younger Wizard’s eyes. Thomas finally managed to stand and sway his way over, slices in his skin not healing as his father’s had, eyes flashing from the battle ready silver to the stormy gray and back again. He was weak, dying, I realized, had probably been in this particular battle for some time while I was off elsewhere.

                “Please,” I heard him murmur, “Lara, please, don’t do this. Don’t hurt him. He’s just a human. He shouldn’t even be here, he’s hardly involved. You’re better than that, Lara. You’re better than him.” The woman tilted her head and turned her ruby lips up into a smile.

                “I love you, brother mine,” she said, her hand tracing over the back of her father’s until he let me fall. I took in air so fast and so hard that it felt like I was breathing syrup, my hand reaching for my gun and grabbing it tightly. “But I will not disobey father. I do not want to die.” He stroked her hair and tilted her head up to kiss her. She let him without protest, without reaction, and he stepped away from her as she dragged me to my feet and tore my weapon from my hands, threw it behind her father. She then proceeded to drag me away from the fray, her hand clutching my wrist with painful strength. She tossed me onto the ground and straddled my waist when she deemed us far enough away, and admittedly, I was terrified. I struggled and she settled her hand hard enough on the center of my chest that I worried she’d shatter my sternum.

                “What the hell-,” I hissed, and she silenced me with a kiss. She did not pull away once she’d done it, however, instead kept her lips a hairsbreadth from mine and spoke.

                “Be still, mortal. I will not hurt you, but you must stay here, away from the battle. I will kiss you again, and I would like you to still and feign death. My father does not know it yet, but he is mine. My brother will not die here today.” I hadn’t a clue what was going on, but there was something warm in the silver of her eyes. I remained still and she kissed me again. I kept my eyes open only a moment after and saw that her mouth was ringed with burns. I wondered what that meant as I closed my eyes and pretended death as she’d requested, wondering when I’d become enough of an idiot to listen to the commands of a vampire woman I’d never even met before.

                I do not know precisely what happened, afterwards, I did not see. I merely heard a sudden silence followed by noises like sex and women laughing and Thomas yelping. Then there was nothing for another moment, and then Thomas was shaking me until I opened my eyes. The rest of the White Court was gone and he looked horrified.

                “May I ask what happened?” he flinched.

                “Lara saved both of our asses. Let’s leave it at that. Come on, Harry’s worried. He obviously thought you were really dead, which reminds me, you really need to work on your acting. I saw your eyelids fluttering, not to mention the breathing. You’re lucky my father was distracted. Hurry up, I said stand up. There’s still a war on, you know. Mostly just with the Winter Court, the Denarians, Cowl and Kumori, and us, but still. Up, Michael’s signaling for us.” I finally got to my feet and received my gun from Raith as we walked over to where Michael was battling against a cluster of Denarians whilst Nicodemus himself duked it out with Cowl.

                There was a lot of yelling, I realized, along with the flying of spells, but none of it was decipherable, and Nicodemus and Cowl sounded almost as if they were speaking another language. I once more took in my surroundings and found that the men I’d brought, Gard and Hendricks included, were split evenly among fighting the group I was standing in and fighting with Murphy against the storybook characters and the fairies. Nerves had my trigger finger shaking and my bad shoulder was flaring up with pain like a toothache. The world turned into a blur as something large slammed into my side and I started shooting again, wild and uncontrolled fire, but it mattered little. I didn’t see much beyond flares of color, flashed of the monstrous things I was firing at, the clatter of silver coins hitting the ground as they faded or fled, flashes of Michael’s sword flaring with holy white light, snippets of Thomas done in white and pink as he bled and battled, but I realized nonetheless that we were _winning._ Something caught me good across the back, tore through both layers of my clothing and my bandages to open a bleeding gash from my shoulder to my side, and I believe I yelled, but once again, I’m not too clear on the details.

                When I finally felt a hand on my shoulder, I nearly shot the owner of it, but he spoke quickly just before I would have managed it. I was breathing heavily, the sound wet and almost painful, but I was grinning, pleased with the victory.

                “You’ve done well,” Michael said, and I turned my eyes to see Nicodemus, Cowl, and Kumori still fighting, still speaking in that language I didn’t know.

                “We’ve still more to do,” I said, and he nodded.

                “As always. I believe, however, that you should withdraw for now. You are hurt grievously, and Harry would be quite cross with you if you died. We shall handle the rest, and you may withdraw your people as well if you choose. Many of them are among the dead here,” he told me, gesturing around at the mangled bodies on the ground, some of them recognizable as human and some of them not, some of them my people and some of them the terrible not-people that had fought with the vampires, some of them things I didn’t even have a name for.

                “I refuse,” I said, and Michael laughed as we ran towards the three fighters nearby. Murphy and her army still raged on against Mab and Maeve.

                “Of course you do,” he said, and I knew then that I wouldn’t die, that I’d live and this would simply become a story to tell, my greatest fight, my greatest victory, taking place when I had a bullet hole in my shoulder and when I was bleeding and hurting and feeling more like a teenager than I had since I was one.

                “Indeed. May I ask what they’re saying?” I questioned, taking aim and firing at the girl, as she seemed to be serving as Cowl’s protector more than anything else. The bullet bounced away and I stared, agape.

                “From the precious little Latin I speak, I hear only curses, and perhaps a few mentions of ‘apprentice’ and ‘denarius’.” I suppose that made sense. I tried to fire again and found it just as worthless as the first attempt. “You see now why I asked that you withdraw? Bullets are worthless here. This is an old fight, one of magic and of blades.” I slung the gun over my back and drew my throwing knives, and Michael laughed. Admittedly, they proved only marginally more effective, but it still brought me tremendous pleasure to see the three bleed, even if only slightly. Still yet, we were losing this fight. My people were dropping dead like flies, and while Thomas wasn’t dying, he was being swatted like one, getting thrown away only to run and join the fray again. Michael’s attacks were of little consequence as well, as he landed only glancing blows and was knocked back often. I myself stayed a bit distant to avoid all but the stray bits of force and wind that hit me after bouncing off another target. And then the earth beneath them started moving and another man, the man in the gray robe, was beside me. I gave him a look and he offered another nod.

                “I will not allow the Warlock to be taken by a Warlock of more strength or a creature who offers him the power to destroy cities with a stray thought.” And that made me laugh; here was a man helping save Harry’s life despite calling him a Warlock, despite thinking him evil, and the irony of it was glorious to me. He wasn’t enough, however; he was strong, yes, he turned the fighting very slightly more in our favor, but the scales were still weighted heavily to them. Even Ivy and her dual wielded magic, her multi-tasking might, were of little consequence to the world-changing strength of these three we were having to fight. We soon received the final advantage we needed however, one in the form of a lovely woman with hair the color of fire, with strength as undeniable as a winter storm. I’d seen her but once and Harry had called her godmother. She too stood beside me as she fought.

                “I give him to you and hardly a day later you allow this to happen? My, he has such poor taste! Ah, well, you’ve not broken our deal, so I suppose that there is little for me to do but fight by your side. Consider me at your service, at least for now. I’m afraid I’ll be of little help against my queen.” She offered a quick bow, and then, then we were winning.  Kumori fell first and Cowl next, as he was trying to get her away (and it was strange to consider the man, so cruel, so cold, so empty, caring for her, but it seemed he did) but they did not stay to die. I supposed I could count it a victory nonetheless, even if not a satisfying one. Nicodemus was not as easy, however.

                He fought without nerves, as if he’d done it since his birth however long before, and his shadow killed and crushed and tore all that it touched. He fought as if he was bored, as if it held no interest to him, until I got closer, until I grabbed the damned noose around his neck. Then, he struggled. He threw his shadow at me, tried to use it to get me off of him, but Lea and Michael stood side by side and kept it at bay, until the man was coughing and turning red and blue, colors like death, and I turned to glance for a moment at Harry. He was wide-eyed, clutching the arms of the seat he was in, and still the man beside him appeared to want to hide the goings on from him. He took the moment to shake me loose and disappear. I couldn’t help but be just a touch happy about that; I wasn’t sure if I could kill like that in front of Harry, kill by choking, watch him die slow and trudging. It was too… I had never liked choking; if I had to kill, I liked to do it at a distance, do it fast. I generally saw no need to involve suffering. Harry had relaxed minutely when I looked at him again, and then we were running towards the Winter army that was just barely gaining ground on Murphy and her battalion.

                Lea moved reluctantly to the stands, to clutch at Harry and stroke his hair and his cheeks, to shush him along with the older man, and wished that I could have been resentful of her for it, but I wasn’t able. She’d just saved us, really, just given us the means to win, and I knew we could win, now. That Winter army had already been carved to less than half of what it had been, and even though Mab and Maeve looked like goddesses of war at its head, they both had blue blood dribbling from underneath their armor, down their faces and matting their white hair. I do not know why, but Maeve focused in on me as soon as I got near enough, came at me wild and uncontrolled. I only barely managed to get out of the way.

                “Oh, here he is, the thief of my knight. Why does he want you anyway? I’m much prettier,” she said with a laugh, and I bared my teeth.

                “He is not your knight.” I went back to my gun because it at least drew blood from her, and she cackled. White, cold magic flew towards me and made me feel frostbitten where it touched. My fingertips had gone blue. I’d seen snowflakes threaded among it, and she did it again, as natural as a breath.

                “So you say, but he will be. One day, Mr. Marcone, he will need the strength we offer, the strength only we can give, strength you could never offer, and he will come to us. He will beg to fight at our fingers, under our rule. One day he will give in; perhaps there will be one too many people he cannot save. Perhaps there will be a monster that he simply cannot win against. Perhaps his years of impossibilities will catch up with him, our darling Child of the Stars, his strength against those of the Outside finally making him necessary. Nonetheless, one day he will be ours. Why not today?” Perhaps she was telling the truth, enigmatic though it be, and I didn’t understand all she meant. I couldn’t see where it mattered, anyway.

                “Because today he is ours,” I said, gesturing around this his friends, to the world. If ever he did belong to them, serve as their knight, it wouldn’t be today. The thought gave me strength and I backed her into her army, her mother. We fought hard, then, all of us, and admittedly we were all hurt. Their army dwindled faster than ours, however, our bullets tearing through the fairytale creatures like paper even if they offered little against the queens themselves. Eventually, Mab held up a hand and her now minute army came to her side.

                “I concede,” she said, “At least for the battle if not for the war.” She bowed, low and graceful, respectful. “Thou have all fought with honor and with strength. To thou all I concede the life of Harry Dresden until such time as I see it appropriate to fight for it again. Do as you shall.” And then she was gone. The field was empty but for us and the dead, and Harry was running down to the field with a smile like sunshine on his face, even though the handcuffs on his wrists made him clumsy and unsteady. When he reached me, he bent down and pressed a kiss to my lips, soft and sweet and beautiful.

                “Thank you,” he whispered against them, “Thank you, John, my god, I’m alive, thank you. I’m home.” And then he was crying and we were all of us holding him, staring at the sky and even I could hardly believe that night had long ago fallen, that the moon was high in the sky and getting ready to arc its way down and make way for the sun. Alive. Yes, we were all alive. Little Ivy pulled at my sleeve and drew the contract she’d made up once she got my attention. As the Merlin had implied, his signature was gone. Harry pulled the pen that had remained almost miraculously in the front pocket of my shirt, protected under my jacket, and scrawled his signature where it had been. Ivy nodded without a word and put it away again, and I kissed Harry one more time. The gray robed man, who hadn’t joined in the affection, sneered and walked back to the stands. All but the older Wizard who’d sat by Harry left, and he gave Harry a quick hug as a goodbye before he was gone as well. Lea didn’t stick around long either, as she claimed that she had to go settle her Queen’s anger. Harry seemed understanding and thanked her for her help anyway, as did I, considering I had no idea how the fight would have ended otherwise.

                And then we went home, all of us, the only difference being that I decided to spend the evening with Harry in his apartment. It’s anticlimactic, I know, it’s no perfect ending for a fight like that, but it’s the best we could think of. We were tired and we were hurt and our veins were surely filled with more adrenaline than blood. Going home was the best ending I could have possibly imagined, just then.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the last chapter! Hope everyone who read enjoyed this fic, because I definitely had a lot of fun writing it! Anyway, I have not really any idea when I'll post something new, but I am working as diligently as possible on a few new things, some of which are for new fandoms. I guess it'll be a week or so, maybe? I don't know; depends on how well the projects work out, really, and how swamped real life makes me in the next few weeks.

Harry’s POV

                I never would have thought that John would want to go home with me, of all people at all times. Maybe he was trying to balance the scales now that I had spent the night with him. I don’t know. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’ll probably never have any hope of figuring out the inner workings of his twisty, twisty brain. Still, I had to admit that I appreciated it. I had literally no desire to be left alone, at that point, no desire to be by myself and do nothing but stew on my thirty millionth close call. Besides, Mouse and Mister seemed happy to see the man, Mouse going so far as to lick his hand and Mister threading between his legs and purring like an engine.

                John smiled at them and stroked their fur, which apparently placated them enough that they just made their way to my bedroom. Mouse closed the door behind himself and we were left alone, John staring at the now closed door like something amazing had happened.

                “Harry, your dog-,” I laughed and nodded.

                “He’s really smart. Smarter than me, usually. See, he’s… a special breed, I guess you could say. Tibetan Temple Dog. Mister’s smart too, but he’s just a cat. They’ve got… supernatural inclinations naturally, though. They can see the kinds of things I fight like Vanillas and most dogs can’t, and they’ve usually got a good eye for ghosts too. They don’t react to them normally, even if they see them, though. Of course it only makes sense that the Almighty would give the ability to see spirits and ghosts and things to literally the most indifferent animal on the face of the planet.” John shook his head and sat on my couch in his torn suit, still looking like he could go out for a polite business lunch with Mrs. S and buy the place.

                “Only you,” he told me, and I shrugged.

                “It wasn’t my fault; he picked me, not the other way around. I hardly even like dogs!” John raised his eyebrow, and I took that as a cue for explanation. “Well, okay, see, there were these purple demon monkeys that threw flaming shit, right? Okay, so, they kidnapped a box full of puppies from this monk in from Tibet, and he called me to go get them, since he knew some people who knew me, and so me and Murphy did. We put them in the backseat of her car, but Mouse crawled out and hid until the monk had already left, so I didn’t exactly have much choice but to keep him, since Murphy’s a little allergic to dogs and he kept climbing all over me anyway. He used to fit in my coat pocket, can you believe that? He used to crawl in there when I wasn’t looking to trick me into taking him out places with me.” John just shook his head as I sat beside him on my couch and leaned into his side. His fingers played with my hair, twirling it around and around until I started getting just a little sleepy.

                “You know, I’ve just realized that I’ve fallen in love with a man idiotic enough to be fooled by a little puppy dog.” I would’ve punched him, had I not been scared that it would injure him or something.

                “Asshole.” He shrugged and I gave in because he was right anyway. Even if he was annoying about it. “Hey, you want a shower? I’m sure you want to get the blood off of you.” He nodded and dropped my hair, letting me lean up so he could stand.

                “Join me?” he asked, and it took me a second but I finally nodded.

                “Sure; shower should be big enough, and I’m a little dusty too.” May as well conserve water, I decided, and my hot water heater sucked; it wouldn’t last two hot showers, and I wanted one, that night. We entered my bedroom and the critters left, going instead into the living room and once more shutting the door behind them. Weird. Anyway, I opened my bathroom door and led John inside, then took his jacket and his shirt off for him so he wouldn’t hurt himself more. After that, I took off the shredded remains of his bandages and had him sit on the edge of my bathtub. “Let me clean all of that first, then the shower. I don’t want you to get infected,” I told him, and grabbed all of my first aid implements (of which there are many. If you got injured as much as me, you’d keep a small clinic in your house too) from the shelves where they lay. I lay what I’d need on the edge of the bathtub beside John and settled myself on my knees behind him.

                It was quick, easy work, patching him up again, mind numbing and common. I’d done things like this so often that it was second nature. Hell, I’d even impressed a couple of nurses, and Butters, before. The things you learn when you’re in the business, I guess. He stayed silent for it, all hard, tense muscle under my hands, and I could tell that he was valiantly resisting making a sound, showing me pain. I rolled my eyes.

                “If it hurts, tell me so. You don’t have to hide it; I know this stuff feels like shit. It’s the best they sell, though. First aid equipment is one of the few things I splurge on.” In response, he just groaned, and I chuckled as I finished up. “Alright, you’re all done.”

                “Are you hurt anywhere?” he asked me as he stood and I packed it all back up.

                “For once, no. I wasn’t in the fight, remember? They made me sit.”

                “You had those cuffs on, however. May I see your wrists?” Of course he’d noticed, the bastard.

                “They’re not as bad this time, it’s fine. They’ll heal up on their own if I slap a bandage on them after this.” He snatched my upper arm and shoved my jacket and shirtsleeve up, glaring at me for what he saw. Dried blood ringed it, punctures all the way around, but it hardly even hurt, anymore. I had scars all the way around both of my wrists from the damned things; this would only make them the barest bit worse. He took the things I’d just put up back down and washed me clean of the blood, his hands gentle and slow, his eyes focused.

                “You’re so…” he mumbled, but didn’t seem to know how to finish the statement, so he just went quiet. My wrists already looked a lot better, with the blood gone and the punctures clean. We stood and put the things away again, and then I started the water, shrugging my jacket and shirt off to pool on the floor. The water started to steam as we both finished stripping and climbed in. The fit was a little tight, admittedly, but not uncomfortably so. I pulled the curtain shut to keep the heat around us. John’s arms wrapped around me, loose and careful, pulling me against his already damp chest while he settled his forehead onto the back of my neck. I’m sure we looked quite the sight, standing there like that, nearly seven foot tall me being held by him as if he thought he could spoon with me or something. I turned around to face him carefully, and he settled a hand on the back of my neck, pulled me down to kiss him lightly. The feeling was… I felt like crying. I don’t know why. I think everything that had happened just came up on me all at once, our whole relationship culminating today, in him risking the Merlin’s wrath, his life, his everything, to save me.

                It seemed as though he could have anyone he wanted, beautiful women and handsome men that ran his circles, wealthy, political circles. He’d picked me, though, me of all people, tall, gangly, awkward, oft-injured, PI, Wizard, me. He’d chosen to save my life. He’d risked his Barony, his city, himself. For me. He’d collected my friends. He’d organized everything. I kissed him too and the water dripping down my face did well in hiding that a few tears fell from my eyes. I clutched at him as if he were an anchor, as if he were the only thing that could possibly keep me from floating away to another universe. He seemed shocked by me, and stumbled back towards the wall a little. I held him tight nonetheless, let my hands wrap tight around his waist and pull him against me.

                “Harry?” he asked me as we pulled apart, his eyes wide and blown like they’d been that first time, and he was hard against my leg. Maybe I was too, I wasn’t exactly sure at the time.

                “Hell’s Bells, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. You saved me. I love you. Thank you, John, I just… I love you,” I said, desperation on my words, and he clutched me tightly, his hand running down my back, clutching at whatever he could reach, and I gasped as he mouthed my neck, nipped and bit, his teeth just barely dipping into the skin. His touch had me sighing, my skin sparking at me like lightning where his fingertips had been, and that was when I realized that I was hard, though. I didn’t bother with that, though; I wanted to make John happy, then, so I wrapped my hand around him instead, moved and squeezed as best I could even though the angle was weird. He jerked into my hand, unveiled ecstasy on his face, and then he had me in hand too, his hand moving expertly. We fell against each other, then, both of us working our hands and mouthing at one another’s throats, soft, muffled noises falling from our mouths, and it was fast, maybe a little messy, nothing like that first time we’d shared together. I went a little frantic when I came, though, tense and making desperate little noises that I didn’t know what meant.

                “Easy, easy,” he whispered against me, working me through it, and when my hand tensed I made him come too, hard and looking like it nearly hurt. He came down relatively quickly, though, and spoke again. “For the record, I love you too, Harry, and I can promise you that there isn’t a need to thank me. I did it only because I did not want to lose you and I know that you would do the same for me. Shall we leave, now? The water has become quite chilled; from this point on, I believe that these activities would be better suited to my home.” I laughed.

                “No kidding,” and we climbed out, both of us slick with the water and happy to be clean, and I gave him one of my bigger shirts that actually fit him correctly and a pair of pants that Thomas had left that, while maybe a touch tight, did at least go on him. Where was Thomas, anyhow? Come to think of it, I think he went home with Michael. Ah, well; I was sure he’d come back here eventually, and I at least knew that he was safe. I dressed myself and we fell, crowded and tight and warm and cozy, into my tiny, teensy weensy little bed. I slept better than I had in ages.

* * *

 

                I woke up before him the next morning and made breakfast for the two of us, and if you dare make any cracks about ‘housewives’ at me, I will kill you. Like, no kidding. I don’t even know who or where you are, but I’ll kill you. I am a Wizard, after all. We can do stuff like that, since we’re so cool. Anyhow. It was a good morning, once he woke up; we ate and we laughed and acted like we were just two normal people having breakfast. I didn’t get ‘normal’ with many people, and honestly, it was… really welcome. I like normal, even if I don’t get it often.

                We spent all of that day in my house, talking or reading to each other, and once it started to get dark outside, he brought me out for dinner in some ritzy looking place with candles and backlighting and all that weird stuff. He even somehow made it so the wait staff didn’t look at me funny when we came in and sat, and he told me the best things on the menu, and they had _soda_ and it was wonderful. We laughed and discussed everything under the sun, baseball and my old cases and his mother and anything else either of us could think of. The food was good, too, expensive and flavorful on my tongue, and I thought that maybe we’d get the evening to ourselves, before the girl from forever, Lucille, came over to us in a sparkly red dress, her full hips swaying, and draped herself over John’s arm again. I squirmed and looked down at my plate.

                “Still with this old bird, Johnny sweetie? He really isn’t good enough for you, you know, and how long do you plan on making me carry a torch for you before you just marry me already?” she asked, only partially teasing, and I glared.

                “Hands off. Shoo, shoo, go on now. We’re busy. Eating, and all. And then going home. Without you. So, uh, yeah.” John laughed suddenly, raucous and wild, and shook her off of him.

                “You heard him, go on. I’m spoken for, it seems.” She stared, lips in that ‘O’ again, and stepped back just a little.

                “John! Really, I thought you had better taste than some old wet blanket like him!” John didn’t respond to that, so I just stuck my tongue out at her and waved goodbye. She looked really offended and that only made me laugh. She turned and stomped off, then, dress glittering under the restaurant lights, and John stretched across the table to kiss my cheek.

                “Good to know I’m not the only one,” he whispered in my ear, and I flushed. I didn’t normally act like that, but, well… I liked John, okay? A lot. And he was… yeah. Ahem. I think we should all probably just forget about that whole little episode and move on, don’t you? I thought so. Anyway, we finished eating not long after that, and then made our way back to my apartment. Mouse and Mister greeted us happily once again, and I had John plop down on my couch because I’d just had a thought. What better way to cement things than to give him the ring he’d given me that I’d fixed up? I took it from the shelf and walked over to him, sat beside him.  

                “So, the day before that whole thing at the field, I thought I was going to end up dead,” I said, holding up a hand when he tried to cut me off, “And I wanted to do something for you, give you something to remember me by and all, like everyone else who’s important to me got. Which reminds me, I need to get my pentacle back from Murphy. I was going to have her give it to Thomas, you know? Anyway. This is the ring you gave me, the one with all the charms and stuff. I changed it a little, to make it better for some modern weapons as well as the old school ones, and… well, just, here. Take it,” I said, opening the ring and displaying it to him, and he touched it slowly, carefully.

                “It feels warm,” he told me, and I nodded.

                “It’s the magic I used on it. My protective spells tend to do that. The charms I gave out to get through my wards are downright hot, sometimes. Do you like it? You can read the note, if you want. It was for you, after all.” He did so, and then smiled, running his finger along the back of the thing and whispering the word I’d given. A flash of blue light, pale, came from the stone, and these pretty little motes I’d learned to make years before, equally blue, formed into a heart. Yeah, I know, it’s cheesy and it’s silly and all of those other things, but it made me laugh as I made it and it made John laugh now, so I figured he appreciated it. He slipped it on his ring finger with ease and wrapped me in a hug, taking the box in the process and slipping it into the pocket of the pants he wore.

                “Never thought I, of all people, would be wearing a handcuff,” he mumbled into the mess of my hair, and I let my eyebrows drift to my hairline. He rolled his eyes and clarified, “Engagement ring.” Oh. Oh! I squawked at him, flailing my arms until he let me go, and then turned red again, staring down at my lap.

                “It’s not-,” I stopped. He was holding back laughter. That damn… “Fuck you.” He stopped trying to hold it back and instead just laughed like a madman, free and open and maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, him laughing at me. We went to bed together again not long after that, curling up with one another on my bed once more, and he mumbled into my neck.

                “We’re going to have to move you into my place soon,” he said, and I nodded.

                “Of course. I’m sure Mouse and Mister would love it.” He tensed up like I’d surprised him, but I was asleep before he got the chance to comment.  

* * *

 

                John moves fast, let me tell you. When I woke up the next morning, he had Hendricks in my house, the two of them talking about places for all of my books and toys and things for my pets. I gaped.

                “John. I agreed to move in with you last night half a minute before I went to sleep. Did you really already get a place made up for me?” He cocked his head.

                “Well, sleeping arrangements for you are, I would hope, obvious at this point. I called Mr. Hendricks last night and asked him to come by, you see, so that we could think of what to do. All the things in your basement will need a place as well, obviously.

                “There’s the big shed in the back, the one we use for storing the stuff for the gardening,” Hendricks said, “He could keep whatever’s in the basement out there and we could get a smaller shed built for the gardening stuff. As for the books, I’m sure we could move the things in the library around enough to get a couple of shelves set aside for him.” Library. Shed. Stars and Stones, I forget how much money he has. John nodded.

                “The rest of his things could easily be made room for among the various shelves around the house as well. I suppose for now we’ll just get everything packed up and unpack it gradually as space is made and chosen for it all.” Okay then. So I guess I was moving. Good to know. Hell’s _Bells._

                “Uh. I’m going to go call my friends. To help pack. Yeah.” So that’s what I did, and they were there in an instant, as if they had nothing better to do than help me pack. It was all… if I had to pick a word, I’d have called it domestic. Thomas fucked around most of the time, pulling out all of my underwear and displaying it as if it were fascinating, and also laughing at my clothes. Murphy told all the stories behind my knick knacks, many of which she’d bought for me, including the one relating to the particularly idiotic statuette of something I still didn’t know what was given in honor of that one regular sized statue that I’d melted just a tiny bit beyond recognition. Michael was probably the most legitimately helpful, packing boxes and carrying three or four at a time outside to the large vehicle John had commissioned for this.  

                I was confused the whole time, honestly, going through and helping with a bemused glint in my eyes. Since when was my life so normal, huh? I didn’t just… pack my things like a normal human being. I didn’t move in with my boyfriend. I didn’t… I didn’t do domestic, but that was exactly what this was. It was... I shook my head and kept folding my clothes.

                I would miss this place, I decided. It had been the first place I’d lived in using my own money, my first legitimate home. I’d been here for years. It was time to move on though, I decided, take the next step. Change was a good thing, at least in this regard. It was time for my world to change, to tilt on its axis one more time. John and me, we were an odd couple. All logic said we shouldn’t work; in fact, all logic said we should explode if we come into contact with each other. We didn’t, though. He was a bastard. He pissed me off like no one else could. He bothered me exponentially. Against all reason, though, I loved him. I picked up a box and carried it outside, and he caught me by the shoulder, turned me to face him and kissed me once, quick and thoughtless. He looked at me as if I were a treasure and no one had ever looked at me like that before. I’d never thought I was worth looking at like that. Thomas made a gagging sound as I walked outside.

                “Could you stop with the sexual tension and my brother?” he asked as I came back in, throwing his arms up into the air as if he were frustrated but wearing this ridiculously amused expression on his face.

                “You’re just jealous,” I told him, shouldering by him on the way back into my bedroom, and he turned this horrified look towards me.

                “Of _that_?You’re kidding! I’d never want someone as ugly as him!” I only laughed and started packing another box. This was a strange world, a strange time, I reflected. People hit their peak early and fell, but John wasn’t like that. John was still climbing, still bettering. I was trying to do the same, I knew, all of my friends were. The parties and the liquor, we partook sometimes, I could admit to that. It didn’t rule us, though, never us, and it wasn’t because we were above it. No, I like to think it’s because we’re below it. We’re living in another world, underneath the glitz and the glamour, the flashing dresses and the styles and shine, the illusion. We’re living in the real Chicago, the messed up place that still shines through the grime like a beacon, the place full of so much human magic that it takes my breath away, sometimes.

                It was a beautiful world we’d made for ourselves. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, for all the money and all the safety in the world because I’d made it mine. Murphy came in with a magazine photo in her hands, one that had been folded and rolled so much and so often that the picture was fading a little. She had an enormous smile on her face as she showed it to me.

                “Remember this?” she asked, and I laughed. The faded photo was of a car, a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, if I recalled, and I remembered that I used to joke I’d be rich enough to buy one. Murphy had cut that photo out and given it to me for my birthday, saying it was a placeholder for the real thing. I’d laughed and had ended up putting it into a little silver box on one of my shelves, so I’d never lose it. A photo of my father was in there too, I knew, and she stepped over to me, handed me something silver.

                “Thanks,” I said, taking my pentacle from her and hanging it around my neck. She gave me this serious look, blue eyes cold as she handed me the magazine photo.

                “Never make me take that again.” Her voice brokered no argument, and I nodded.

                “Never,” I agreed, and she wandered back out. I put the photo on top of everything in the box I was packing. I didn’t want to lose it. I carried it outside to the car as well, and realized that this didn’t feel like anything life-changing. It felt normal, average, every day. It shouldn’t have, just like John and I shouldn’t have felt so normal, so right, but we did. I guess maybe I should get used to feelings like that.

                I had never had a perfect life, probably never would. I didn’t want one, if I was honest. Perfect was boring, and there was nothing I hated more than being bored. John would certainly never bore me. He lived on the dangerous side of Vanilla life, and now that he’d insinuated himself into my life, he lived on the dangerous side there too. I didn’t like everything about him, every aspect of him. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t stand the part of him that was the Gentleman. I knew he came with the package, though, the package of the man who gave me that treasuring look and touched me with gentle hands and had many times proven willing to do anything for me. He’d kept trying for me even when I pushed him away, and that made me snicker a little, under my breath.

                Our relationship had progressed strangely; first, I’d liked him, then I’d hated him, and now… now I loved him. I wouldn’t trade that for anything either. It was too unique, solely mine. Michael gave me a quick, hard half hug and smiled down at me.

                “I am glad you have found someone to love, Harry. It’s a bit strange, though, isn’t it?”

                “Everything about me is strange. I may as well not break the theme; it’s worked for me so far.” Michael nodded, laughed.

                “Indeed. I wish you well, Harry, you know that. I have an odd feeling, you know, that this could be the best step you’ve taken in years.” And I’d learned to trust Michael’s feelings. They usually came from a not-entirely-mortal plane. I nodded and packed another box, the last one. We all stood in the middle of my now-empty building, staring at it as if it were new to us. Mouse uffed and Mister mewed, and I smiled.

                “You know, I never thought it’d be a mobster who finally got you to move out of this shithole, Harry,” Murphy said, and Thomas nodded in agreement.

                “I know, right? Hey, hey, Marcone, since I was living with Harry here, think I can move into your place for a while?” John’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to speak, but I covered it with my hand.

                “Delighted, Thomas, until you get your own place. I made you a promise, after all,” I said, turning a sharp glare to John, and he conceded with a sigh. Thomas laughed.

                “Oh, man, you are so whipped! And I’m going to cock block you so much! Man, I love being a big brother!” John looked more pathetic than I’d ever seen him before, and I almost took pity on him, but it was way too funny, if you want me to be honest about it. It at least didn’t last long, though, because John was dragging us out to his cherry car and letting me into the passenger seat whilst he jumped into the driver’s seat. He turned his face to me, painted with his bold smile, and pulled me hard against him. The ring he now wore pressed against my cheek where he held my face. He held me tightly, then, as if he were afraid I’d disappear, and I just wanted to laugh, free and open and amazing because like that was ever going to happen.

                I had found my home, my one person, my final happiness. I’d done what I’d always sworn I would; I’d made myself a niche, a warm place to lay my head at night. I’ll say now that Michael isn’t the only one who can get feelings, because right then, I got one too: right there, wrapped in his arms with his beautiful green eyes looking at me, his wild smile on his face, that was where I was going to be forever. I lunged up and kissed him with a passion I’d never felt before, and I’m pretty sure he got that feeling too.

                I say again, it’s a funny world, a funny city, where we’ve planted our roots. It’s damaged, it’s dirty, there’s horrible things happening everywhere, but still it shines with magic light that I could never hope to make on my own. There’s hope, in this city, always hope. Me and John, we’re going to find that spark of hope together, side by side, like we’re made to be, and we’re going to nurture it. We’re going to make it grow. One day, with us here, the whole world is going to see Chicago’s magic, Chicago’s light. I’ve always loved this city, and now I’m going to show the whole wide universe why. And the whole way? My friends are going to be at my side, and so is John. I don’t think I’ve ever had a happier thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Handcuff: engagement ring

**Author's Note:**

> Dry up-Shut up, go away.


End file.
